Hold Fast
by scarylolita
Summary: Kyle returns to South Park after being gone for nearly ten years; however, the person to return isn't the one who left. Kenny now has to deal with past relationships, broken friendships, a sick roommate, his drug dealing family, and a very secretive redhead all while trying to maintain normalcy. In the end, it's harder than it looks and he seeks comfort in danger. Dark themes, K2.
1. Trash

**South Park © Matt and Trey.**

**Full summary**_**: The foundation holding **__**Kenny McCormick's mediocre life together begins to crack apart as the past comes back to haunt him. Meanwhile, Kyle Broflovski returns to South Park after being gone for nearly ten years; however, the person to return is not the person who left. Kenny now has to deal with past relationships, broken friendships, a sick roommate, his drug dealing family, and a very secretive redhead all while trying to maintain the normalcy. In the end, it's harder than it looks and he seeks a dangerous kind of comfort while trying to stay sane. **_

**Kenny is a lot less knowing in this than he is in my other fics. He's just your average every day guy, minus the dying business. Characters will probably be a bit ****OOC ****at times. If you don't like the idea of Kyle being a little docile, you might want to turn away. I also made Kenny a bit of a tool in this one for the sake of the story.**

**Warning: dark themes – drugs, abuse, violence**

* * *

I don't know much.

To be frank, I kind of suck.

I'm bad at relationships and I had poor marks all through school, but I like to think know a bit about the real things in life. I think in the end, that's what really matters. I think that's why I was always skipping classes when I was young, and why I didn't attend university. Not many of us did. In the end, there are more important things than being able to memorize the periodic table of fuckin' elements and quote Shakespeare. Many of us weren't going to be scientists. We weren't going to be historians or professors or doctors.

School really sucked. It was like a game and when it came down to things, you could never really win at it. If you were loud, you were annoying. If you were quiet, you were weird. If you were a virgin, you were a prude. If you weren't, then a slut. If you got bad grades, you were an idiot. If you got good grades, you were keener. If you cussed, you were uneducated. If you smoked, you were trying too hard to fit in. If you drank, you were still trying too hard. If you were poor, you were dirty. If you were rich, you were pretentious. If you were sad, you were an attention seeker. If you were happy, you were lying.

I think it's safe to say everyone is glad it was over and anyone who says they can look back on their school experiences with joy are probably suffering from memory loss.

Stan works at a bar now. The bar my dad loves to get drunk at. Eric owns the local Shakey's Pizza, and me? I don't have an actual job, per se, but I still do an awful lot.

I fix cars, for one thing. I don't do it professionally, but everyone in South Park knows that I'm the guy to go to for any car trouble. I get paid under the table by the old dude who works at the local auto shop. Sometimes I sing at the bar Stan works at, too, and well… I also deal, but I try to keep that a secret. It's what helps most to pay the bills.

I know what everyone would probably start thinking if they found out about it. They'd blame my parents. And hey, maybe it is partially their fault. They raised me, and even though they always stressed the importance of making something of myself, I couldn't help but watch what they were doing with their own lives. Kids are impressionable like that and naturally, I ended up making a lot of the same mistakes they did. So as I got older, they realized that I wasn't going to be doing anything fantastic with my life.

It might not seem like much, but for guys like us this kind of life is more than enough. It suits us. Stan loves to drink, Eric has a passion for fast food, and I like cars. I don't think that for guys like us university was necessary. Sometimes you don't need to spend thousands and thousands of dollars to end up where you want to be, I suppose.

Well… maybe I'm over compensating just a bit. I like to make it seem like I'm doing all right when in fact I'm still a piece of shit.

Whatever.

Stan is still dating Wendy. Actually, they just got engaged. Eric is dating Rebecca and has been for the past year. In my humble opinion, that is pretty fucking weird. The idea of Eric in a stable relationship isn't something I'd ever have imagined, and I especially never imagined he'd end up with a girl as great as Rebecca.

Kyle was always a little different than us three, but not in a bad way. He's smart, for one thing. He had immense amounts of motivation and direction. I guess this is why he was able to make something bigger of himself than the rest of us did. A lot of people hated him for it.

According to Stan, he is now Dr. Kyle Broflovski. I get that. It fits. He always did love learning, but what I don't understand is why he is coming back to South Park. He really has it made for him, which is why I don't get it. If I ever got out of here, I'd probably stay out. This place can suck a person dry, but maybe Kyle looks at it differently. Maybe only be being away from this place for so long can you find something good about it. Or maybe it's just Kyle, the kind of guy who finds something good in just about everything and everyone.

When we were young, I chased him even more than I chased my fucking alcohol. I think I admired him, and in many ways I still do. I think we all admire him – even Eric, but in secret of course.

* * *

"I'm home," I yell once I open the door.

Craig is leaning in the kitchen entrance with his arms crossed and a ladle in hand. "Welcome back," he says mildly.

"Heh," I snicker. "All you're missing is the frilly apron."

"Shut the _fuck_ up."

Our apartment is simple. Right upon entering, you're in the living room. It's just as simple as the rest of the house. There's a tall flat screen television and a long, red sofa sitting in front of it with a short, round table in the center of the room. It's usually where the beer and pizza goes on junk night or when our buddies come over. There are also two bedrooms separated by a bathroom, and a kitchen with enough room for a small two-person table. It's not much, but it's comfortable. There are no cracks in the walls, no peeling paint, no leaks. I guess you could even go far enough to say it's kind of nice.

I shut the door and kick off my sneakers, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand.

"How was _work_?" Craig asks carefully.

Craig is the only person who knows that I deal. He isn't okay with it, but he doesn't say anything about it. He'd probably be cool if it was just marijuana, but meth is a whole other ball yard.

"_Work_ was _work_," I shrug, tossing my bag into my room before following him back into the kitchen. "You?"

"Same," he says.

Craig is a welder. He took a two year long course at the nearest community college. I personally don't understand why anyone would want to do a job like that. When I asked him, he just told me he did it to shut his parents up. He's a pretty mundane person. I thought he would end up doing something mundane like the rest of us, but he didn't. He actually does some pretty tough work. How do I know that? Well, I didn't simply look up what welding was. I had to see for myself. So I went and invaded his workspace. Let's just say I didn't walk out of there alive.

"Kenny."

"Hm?" I ask. He must want something, because he rarely uses my first name like that.

"Tweek's coming over later…" he says, trailing off.

"Got it," I wink, "I'll leave before he gets here."

He nods, turning around to watch the stove.

It's awkward being around when they're together. I mean, this apartment is pretty small and no sounds remain secrets if you get what I mean.

Oh, well. I've probably seen just as much of Craig as his boyfriend has.

I think it's funny how our friendship progressed to this. We cook for each other, we take turns shopping, cleaning, doing laundry and other chores. We still have mindless arguments, but they rarely amount to anything. It's a pretty easy way of living.

When we were in our early teen years I sucked Craig's dick. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the drunken boredom that gave me the courage but I just turned to him and said it in the bluntest way possible.

"What about Tammy?" Craig had asked.

"I don't like her," I said simply, "I like you."

And then it happened.

I had struggled with the button on his jeans, and I had struggled even more to pull them down.

It was a lot different than it was in porn. I cried about it later when I was walking home and couldn't get the taste out of my mouth. I'm still not sure why it made me feel that way. Maybe it was because we were still kids and I was confused. I was never really sure why I did any of the things I'd do. I just went with it, trying not to let anything bother me, and it worked for a while. But I'm older now. We all are, and I find myself missing the days when we were young and stupid – almost embarrassingly so – still at the age where writing your name in the snow with piss was considered to be hilariously creative. What a fuckin' talent. If you managed to write your entire name, you were a winner.

We were so young and so stupid that looking back on some of the shit we did is still embarrassing as hell.

But fuck, I miss those days. Not the school part, as I've said, but the other parts were nice.

My crush on Craig didn't last long. I think I might have even been lying when I said I liked him at all. I think I just wanted an excuse that would let me validate cheating on Tammy. It was shortly after being with a girl, _really_ being with one, that I realized I wasn't that into them. I think it surprised me as much as it surprised everyone else who found out.

I mean, sure, girls are beautiful, but I guess that wasn't exactly what I was looking for. So I cheated, and it happened once more after that. It was just drunk sex with your best bud – the kind of sex you never mention again once it's over.

I was still dating Tammy, but I made myself forget she existed that night. Me and Craig emptied a bottle of Captain Morgan's, watched porn, and I fucked him up the ass. Simple as that. It was a pretty brutal porno. It didn't do much for my dick, but I think Craig got off on it. I always knew he was into some weird shit. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

The following week he started dating Tweek. No one was all that surprised. Sometimes I can't help but wonder how Tweek deals with Craig's kinks. I wonder if he plays along and gets rough. Somehow I can't really imagine it. He's a pretty rigid guy. He made Craig get an STD test before he let him stick anything anywhere. I thought that was kind of funny.

Tammy ended up breaking up with me shortly after. I was kind of glad she was the one to end things. She's a good person and I wanted to avoid hurting her. Turned out that I wasn't as great at hiding stuff as I thought and she knew something was wrong. She didn't pry, and I didn't give her any clues.

I still see her around sometimes. We're polite and we greet each other, but that's usually as far as it goes. I'm thankful for that because when I see her I still feel kind of guilty. I feel like I should have told her I cheated, but at the same time maybe it's better that I never did. We're over, and I wouldn't want her feeling worse about what happened. It would be pointless to open up any ancient wounds.

Our breakup wasn't a big surprise. Everyone saw it coming, but for all the wrong reasons. They said two _sluts_ can't be in a relationship because it won't end well. I fucking hate that word. It makes no sense. So some people have a lot of sex… Who the hell cares? That word is only used by insecure people.

I always stuck up for Tammy, and I'd still do it today if someone said anything bad about her. They don't know her so they should just shut the fuck up.

She got pregnant, which made things even worse. Shortly after we broke up, she got pregnant. I don't know who by. I never asked. It wasn't my business anymore. The kids gave her hell for it. A hell she didn't deserve. Once the bump started to show, it got worse and she dropped out.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to call her, but I don't know if I ever will. I miss her. I don't miss the relationship, but the friendship – the fact that she was always there for me.

I guess that's kind of selfish.

"So what's for supper, lover-boy?" I ask from my place at the kitchen table.

"Nothing if you ever call me that again," Craig says tersely.

I grin to myself. "Fine," I sigh dramatically, "You're no fun."

"I know," he says dryly.

"You'll dull."

"Yup."

"How does Tweek handle such a lame guy?" I ask, staring at the back of his head as he stirs a pot on the stove.

Craig pauses for a moment, as if he's actually considering the answer to my question. It's something he rarely does. "I'm pretty sure we even each other out," he says, "I'm, as you say, dull… and he's jumpy as fuck. He never stops moving… ADD, like his mother always says."

"Two extremes," I snicker. "I don't get it at all, but I guess it was situational."

Tweek hasn't changed much over the years. He works at his parent's cafe and still drinks more coffee than he can handle.

"So when is Tweek coming?" I ask.

"An hour or so."

"I'll eat and leave," I say.

Craig nods his head.

"So, really, what are you making?"

"Stew."

"Fancy."

He snorts, "A hell of a lot fancier than your fucking chicken nuggets."

"There's nothing wrong with nugs," I say, defending my delicacy of choice.

"It's all you can cook," Craig says, "And it isn't even cooking, you just pop them in the oven and press a few buttons."

I roll my eyes, "Well sorry I'm no master chef like you are."

"It's hardly rocket science."

"No shit," I say, "I'm just not into it like you are."

"I wouldn't say I'm into it…"

"You don't mind cooking though, right? I mean, you cook for Tweek all the time."

"I guess. But so what?"

I shrug, "I guess I prefer to spend my time concentrating on other things."

"Right," Craig says, turning off the stove and getting two bowls from the cupboard.

And this is basically how our arguments start and end. They never amount to anything, unlike when we were kids. We didn't just argue, we fought. I mean it, full blown fist fights. Then again, it wasn't exactly a rare occurrence between friends. Tweek and Craig beat the hell out of each other before becoming close. Eric and Kyle used to throw punches, too, and one time Craig and his buddies kicked the crap out of Kyle. However, they did apologize for it later. Even Wendy's been in on some of the fist-fighting action.

Maybe it's just normal for kids to do that shit.

Hell, I think it's normal for everyone to do that shit. I still end up in fist fights every time I get drunk, but maybe that's just because I can never seem to keep my mouth shut.

"Here," Craig says, placing a bowl on front of me and handing me a fork.

"Thanks," I say as he takes a seat across from me. "Apparently Kyle is coming back to South Park," I converse with my mouth full.

"Who said?" Craig asks before taking a bite from his own bowl.

"Stan. I saw him a couple days ago. He was all smiles over it."

"He still keeps in touch with Kyle?"

"I guess so," I laugh, "They probably have a Skype schedule or something."

"Hm," Craig mumbles. "Why's he coming back?"

I shrug, "To teach, I think. That's what Stan said."

"When's he coming?"

I shrug again, "Stan never said."

Craig nods lightly, "Gonna go see him when he does?"

"I don't know."

"Why not? You were friends."

"I know," I say, "But I haven't spoken to him in years. He hasn't even been here during summer and winter breaks. He vacations a lot with his parents, I guess."

"Wealthy people…"

"Yeah," I chuckle.

Part of me is wondering if Kyle will call me when he gets back. Part of me wants him to, but then again, part of me doesn't. I'm afraid that I'd feel like less, standing in front of him. He is Dr. Kyle Broflovski, the genius with multiple degrees and I am just white trash Kenny McCormick.

"I probably wouldn't be enough for him," I say, finishing my bowl.

Craig rolls his eyes, "Doesn't Stan work at a bar? Clearly Kyle's not shallow."

"But he's moral."

"… Yeah, I guess."

I stand up, taking my empty bowl to the sink. "I'll be going, then," I say, "Thanks for the food."

Craig nods, waving me off.

I walk back out into the living room and to the front door, slipping my sneakers back on and zipping up my parka. I grab my backpack from my room before walking out.

I make my way down the elevator, past the lobby and outside.

It's cold.

Shivering, I tighten the drawstrings on my hood before reaching the sidewalk.

What to do…

I could always go see Eric. I haven't in a while.

Yeah.

Yeah, I think I'll do that.


	2. Midas

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for nice feedback :) R&R ~**

* * *

Once I arrive at Shakey's Pizza, I greet Eric who looks like he's in the middle of yelling at a new employee. "Yo, lard-ass!" I wave, loosening the drawstrings of my hood.

"I thought I smelled piss, but it's just the poor boy," he says, turning towards me.

"You're funny as ever."

"You know it." He shifts his gaze back to the kid, "Get back to work." The kid nods, looking relieved and petrified at the same time. Hah.

"So, poor boy," Eric says, "What's up?"

"The usual," I shove my hands on my pockets, "And dude, I'm not even _that_ poor anymore."

It's true. I got my shit together after moving out of my parents' house… Well, I got some of my shit together… Well, okay, fine, I don't really have any of my shit together… but I do have an okay amount of money at least.

"Kinny, you'll always be a poor bastard to me."

"Don't call me a bastard," I frown. Honestly, that is one of the few insults that packs a punch for me. Dad calls me a bastard sometimes. I grew up hearing it. I'm not sure if he really thinks I am a bastard, or if he is just calling me one for the sake of it.

Ah, well…

"Whatever," Eric snorts.

I guess it's just like this with him. Love-hate. He's got my back, though, and I know it. He's proved it more than once… But that's a story for later.

"So," I start, "Did you hear about Kyle?"

He gives me a look, "No. What about the Jew? I haven't seen that fag in years. Did he die or something?"

"What? No! He's coming back here," I say.

"You're seriously?"

I snicker, "Yes, I'm _seriously_."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Stan told me yesterday. Apparently he'll be teaching at the high school."

"It'll be fucking weird," Eric says.

"I know," I shrug, "that's what I was thinking, too."

"Why would he wanna go back there?" he asks. "I think that place sucked the life out of all of us."

I chuckle, "Yeah. Kyle got just as much shit as every other kid there. Stan once told me he was a professor at a fancy-ass university in New York. I don't know why he'd want to teach at some shitty high school here rather than a place like that."

"Different folks, different strokes."

"I guess that's true," I agree. "So how's Red?"

"Fine," he says.

He doesn't really ever talk about his relationship with Rebecca. He's pretty closed up about it, as if it's all a big secret. I bet he's secretly a softie and doesn't want it getting out… Well, probably not.

"That's good."

"Yeah," he shrugs. "So, Kinny, why are you here? Did Craig kick you out again?"

"I offered to leave," I say defensively.

"Why? You live there too, don't yah? You help pay the bills?"

"It's weird being there while the two of them are having alone time."

"Right," Eric makes a face, "I always forget those two are an item… So fuckin' weird."

"They've been together since we were young."

"Do you think I really pay that much attention to Craig the fag and his schizoid?"

"Point taken," I laugh.

Craig the fag… that's a good one.

"So, you gonna loiter around here all night?"

I shrug. "Nothing better to do."

"Come on then," Eric says, giving me a hard slap on the back and causing me to lurch forward. "Let's go get a drink."

"Don't you want to keep an eye on the newbies here?"

"They'll never learn with me up their asses all the fuckin' time."

"True enough."

Eric digs his car keys out of his pocket as we make our way out of Shakey's. I'm glad he has a car. It's cold enough when the sun is up, but when the sun goes down it's fucking freezing. Plus, it's snowing again. Yeah, summer is definitely dead and there is still another month of break left.

"We're having a fucking gorgeous winter this summer," Eric grumbles sarcastically, voicing my thoughts.

I snicker, "Yeah, it's tropical."

He snorts as we settle in his car. "Try not to make it smell like piss in here."

"Fuck off, man."

He just shoots me an annoying and peevish smile, pulling out of the parking lot.

It only takes a few minutes to get to the pub, but if we had to walk it'd probably take a fuck of a lot longer.

Inside the bar, my dad's sitting with Skeeter and Randy Marsh. They all look pretty shit-faced, so they don't notice us walk in.

Skeeter is the most ignorant fucker I've ever met, and no offence to Stan, but Randy is just plain retarded. Hell, my old man is no better than either of them, but he's _my_ dad after all. I can't talk too much shit, he did raise me after all. And sure, he could've done a better job… but who am I to talk? I'd probably fuck up a kid worse than that.

I guess Stan's off tonight, because I don't see him behind the counter. That's probably for the best. He gets beyond humiliated when his dad is drunk. I don't blame him and neither would anyone who has seen Randy Marsh after a few too many beers.

I take a seat at a booth at the opposite end of the room while Eric gets our drinks. I told him to get whatever, because fuck it. I'll drink anything.

"Do you ever feel like we're getting really damn old?" Eric asks once he returns and hands me my drink.

"Yeah," I laugh, taking a long sip, "But then I remember that we're only twenty-five."

"Did you ever think you'd be doin' more with your life than just this?"

"I don't know. Probably not," I admit. "When I was young, I mean really young, I wanted life to take me somewhere more thrilling than the end of another boring day and another boring death. I always ended up dying and missing the best part of the adventure."

"Yeah."

"I wanted to be like fuckin' Midas, and have everything I touched turn to gold. People told me that was aiming pretty damn high, and I said it was good to aim high. I don't know if I actually believed any of the shit that came out of my mouth, though." I laugh, remembering my young self.

Eric laughs, too. But mostly in a way that says he thinks I'm an idiot. I guess I kind of am.

"What about you? Did you ever think you'd be doing more?" I ask.

"Not really."

"I think it suits us," I say. "I mean, you gotta do what you love, right? Some of us just aren't interested in the kind of shit that Kyle was."

"Fucking amen to that."

I take another long chug.

I remember when I started drinking. I was twelve. I was pretty good at hiding it, but I ended up slipping up. It was inevitable. I never did listen to Kyle's constant warnings to "stay hydrated".

My parents were disappointed. They even said it. I think they were under the assumption that I was going to be better than them. I guess they don't understand how a child's mind works. I grew up watching them, thinking the things they did were okay. If you say one thing and do another, then your kids will probably follow in your steps either way. Monkey see, monkey do. Isn't that right?

I was fourteen the first time I slipped up. I remember when my parents came home I was lying naked on the cold bathroom tiles. I had spent most of the night getting sick in the toilet bowl and then deciding to go ahead and _rest_ on the tiles, because they were cold and my body felt far too hot.

I got drunk out of my mind in the back of a lame all-ages club and took something that was given to me. Not my most brilliant moment. I lost Craig and had to make new friends.

I don't remember everything that happened after that, but I'm sure it wasn't anything to be proud of and these new _friends_ weren't so friendly after all.

I thought I'd be awake by the time my parents got home but I wasn't. It's as if time passes much faster when you are intoxicated. My mom was speaking to my dad. Her replies were short, as if she wasn't really listening to what he was saying. I know that she probably wasn't.

The voices and footsteps grew closer and I tried to collect myself but I couldn't lift a damn muscle.

"Kenny?" they called, probably after noticing I wasn't in my room. "You home?"

I let out a groan. I was scared of being found out. I was scared what they would say to me. I think I was shaking at the time, but I don't really remember.

My mom almost bawled when she seen me and shied away from the state I was in.

"Kenny?" my dad gaped.

I rolled over to face the other way; I didn't want them to see me like that. My dad threw a towel over my body and yelled. Kevin came to see what was going on. He probably thought it was a riot.

"You've disappointed us," my dad said before walking out of the room.

I tried to say some sort of apology, but I think what came out of my mouth probably sound like gurgled nonsense.

If I had been a little less drunk I probably would've retorted, "Well you guys disappoint me all the fucking time."

They left me in the bathroom, but I don't really blame them. I wouldn't have wanted to touch me either.

Not a thing was said about it in the morning. If they did say something, it would've been hypocritical. They couldn't ground me or punish me. I knew it, and they knew it.

Kevin laughed at me for it later, while Karen just looked sad. I think she wanted me to be better than Kevin and because of that, only ended up disappointing her even worse. That's when we began to drift apart. She stopped coming to me with her problems, and I stopped checking on her before she went to sleep. To her, I was just like our shitty parents and shitty brother.

Kevin has always been a lot worse than me, though I suppose, in the end, we're both just like our father. The three of us are all stupid, violent drunks who hurt all the people we care about.

It seems like so long ago that happened.

After that, it just became something normal for me to return home drunk or get stoned in my bedroom. I knew my parents wanted better for me, but it just wasn't going to happen that way.

Still, I never touched the hard stuff.

I just sell it.

I don't think my parents wanted me to, but I insisted I was cool with it so they eventually relented. I think they assumed that if I didn't deal through them, I'd go elsewhere and they'd rather keep tabs on me.

* * *

It's late when I leave the bar. I had another drink after Eric ditched, but fortunately, I'm still sober for the most part. If I wasn't, then I'd probably be unconscious somewhere or in the midst of yet another bar fight. My track record is pretty bad lately and it's only getting worse. Maybe I even would've ended up ringing my dad and yelling hate words at him… that would have been a mess. Stan has called me out on my shit a few times, but I just tell him to shove it up his ass.

Ah…

I have a feeling I should've left with Eric because it is seriously fucking cold out here.

Shivering, I tighten the drawstrings on my hood and put my gloves on.

It's still fucking snowing. I'm beginning to really hate the snow.

"Kenny?" I hear a voice behind me ask as I walk past Stan's neighbourhood, "Is that you?"

And somehow, the soft and gravelly voice sounds a tiny bit familiar.

I spin around find myself standing in front of a pale man, but the first thing I notice is the curly, red hair framing his face.

"Kyle?"


	3. Kyle

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you guys for the awesome reviews (: **

**Lots of talking in this chapter. Kyle and Kenny have some catching up to do. **

* * *

"Kyle?" I ask carefully, because I'm not quite sure. He looks so different. I inch closer so I'm all up in his face.

He smiles softly, taking a step back. "Yeah, it's me," he laughs, white puffs of smoke leaving his mouth.

"Goddamn," I say, loosening my hood. "Lemme get a good look at you."

I look him up and down again. He got taller, but he's still a fair bit shorter than me, and last time I saw him he wasn't wearing glasses. His face has matured nicely. He still looks very boyish, but in a softer sort of way. It's something me, Stan and Eric never had.

"You look good," I grin. Hell yeah, I'd tap that any day.

"Thanks," he laughs again, "So do you."

"I know," I wink.

Kyle snorts.

"So have you seen Stan yet?"

"Yeah," he says, "I'm just on my way home from seeing him, actually. He picked me up earlier and I thought the walk home would give me some time to get reacquainted with the mountain air."

"Cool, I'll walk with you," I say, as we begin down the street. "Dude, Stan was so damn stoked you were coming back, you should've seen the silly look on his face when he was telling me."

"Heh… I know."

"When did you get back, anyway?"

"This morning."

"Good, good," I say. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"You want to know _why_ I'm back?"

"Yeah," I say, "How did you know?"

Kyle shrugs. "Stan asked the same thing."

"Ah."

"I guess I just wanted a change of scenery."

"A change? Back to _this_?" I wave my hand around with distaste.

"I was working in New York," he says, "But after a year, I simply realized I didn't really want to be there. It's not all it's hyped up to be." He shrugs nonchalantly, as if to say it's not that interesting of a story.

"Where did you want to be?" I ask, though I think I already know the answer.

"Here," he says, confirming my suspicion. "This place is my home. People say that educators make a difference… and if I'm going to be making a difference somewhere I want to make a difference here."

"That makes sense. This place is worse than fuckin' Skid Row." Maybe a slight exaggeration, but still.

"I've… missed it," he laughs, "I never thought I'd say that."

I laugh along with him, "And I never thought I'd hear anyone say it."

"Hmm," he sobers, "But I am glad to be back."

I nod, "Stan told me you're going to be teaching at the high school we all went to."

"If we had a local university, I would probably try to get a job there, but we don't," he says, "Looks like my back-up degree in teaching really will come in handy."

"Shit," I say, "You smart bastard. They'll be lucky to have you."

He chuckles. "It'll be weird to be back there."

"Wendy teaches there, too," I say.

"Yeah," Kyle nods, "Stan told me. It'll be nice to know at least one of my fellow teachers… But to tell you the truth, I'm also kind of worried."

"Why?"

"Well, I've never _taught_ before."

"Weren't you a professor?"

"Exactly," he states, "Professors don't exactly _teach_, they _profess_. There's a bit of a difference."

Huh.

"Ah, you'll be fine!" I say, slapping him on the back.

We continue to chat mildly. I tell him I fix cars, and he says he's glad I'm doing what I like. I feel stupid for assuming he'd think any less of me for not having a _real_ job. This is Kyle, after all. He doesn't think less of anybody. I could probably tell him I sell fuckin' meth and he'd still think I was a decent human being. But… I won't do that just yet.

Kyle tells me about his university experience, and the places he's been, while I continue tell him about the unimportant parts of my life. I tell him I live with Craig, which he finds pretty amusing.

Kyle chuckles, "Do you still die?"

"Yeah," I snort, "but not as much as I used to… I'm sure the ground remembers me fondly."

"Well, that's good."

Once we arrive at Kyle's house he turns to look at me.

"Do you want to come inside for a bit?" he offers.

"Your parents would be cool with that?"

"Of course," he says, "I spent the first half of the day with my parents and Ike before heading over to see Stan."

I can imagine how much they fussed over him once he returned. It must be hard not getting to see your kid for months at a time.

But, hell. I haven't seen him in years. I think I deserve some time with him, too. So I say, "In that case, sure."

I greet the Sheila and Gerald and they look surprised to see me. Guess they thought Kyle dropped me as a friend. They probably wish he did.

We make our way up the stairs and into Kyle's room and it looks the exact same as it did the last time I stepped foot in it.

"Are you gonna be living here with your parents again?" I ask, wandering in and taking a seat on his bed. It feels stiff, as if it hasn't been slept on in years. I guess it probably hasn't.

"For a little while," Kyle says, taking off his jacket to reveal a green sweater vest. "They want me to, so I'll stay here for a little while. Until I get back on my feet, at least."

"Back on your feet?"

"With the new job," he explains.

"Oh," I say, feeling as if there might be more to it than just that. But hey, I won't pry. To be honest, I don't even know Kyle anymore. This is my first time speaking to him since high school. Weird how much things change. We used to be so close. Not as close as he and Stan, though. Nothing could get between the super best friends.

Actually, Kyle and I began to lose touch long before high school. It started when he skipped a grade. We were all heading into grade nine and he got bumped up to grade ten because he was smarter than the rest of us. He left junior and went onto high school first.

I haven't really spoken to him since he did that little job for me…

Ugh.

"Kyle?" I ask, setting my jacket on his desk chair.

"Hm?"

"Uh," I rub the back of my head.

"What is it?" he tilts his head to the side.

I laugh uncomfortably. "Do you remember the last time we spoke?"

He pauses for a moment before smiling sympathetically. "Yeah," he says, "I remember."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be sorry," he tells me, "I understand it must have been difficult for you to ask that of me. I didn't mind doing it for you, and I never looked at you any different. I won't deny that it was shocking, though. I'd hear about these things happening, but I never thought something like that would happen to someone I knew. If you trust someone enough to do things like that, the least they can do is not take advantage of that trust. I suppose that is one of the many dangers of technology and the internet."

"Yeah…" I frown, trying not to recall the memory but it plays in my head anyway.

I had always been a little less than careful when I was young. It's gotten me into a lot of trouble. I've learned most lessons the hard way. I remember one time in grade ten when I got pretty damn drunk at some grade twelve kid's party. You know how it is, when you're drunk you don't think, and even if you do it's like you just don't care. So I let the guy I was fucking at the time take pictures of me while we were screwing in an unoccupied room. Stupid, I know. He wasn't the nicest or most trustworthy person. I never would have done it sober because I know what kind of shit happens with nude photos. They get leaked.

Naturally, that _friendship_ ended badly. I asked him to delete the pictures and obviously he didn't. I shrugged it off and forgot about it, but soon enough I started getting some pretty disgusting texts from random numbers saying they wanted to shove their junk in my mouth and do me up the ass. I had no fucking clue what was going on until Eric showed me days later.

He just pulled me aside, and right away I knew something was wrong. He had a pretty serious look on his face. "What is it?" I asked. He glanced both ways to make sure no one else was around before he showed me a website on his phone. I almost bawled right there.

"Dude, did you know about that?" he asked.

I shook my head, too shocked to say anything. I don't get embarrassed easily, but hell, I was beyond humiliated as I scrolled down the page.

It was one of those really disgusting forums that crude, teenaged boys and creepy, old men like to post on. Apparently Eric was the kind of teenager who fucked around on nasty forums like that. Not surprising. It was the kind of forum with real gore, leaked nudes, and all that other shit that should never be seen by the public eye.

On this particular thread were photos of me in all my naked glory and the post's subject line was my phone number. Shit, I know I have a bit of a reputation but it didn't mean I wanted to have photos of me looking like _that_ on the internet.

I was shaking with supressed anger and I was really glad Eric wasn't laughing or joking about it. It wasn't funny at all.

Days later, Eric punched the guy in the face before taking his cellphone. He gave it to me and I deleted the pictures before tossing the electronic into the pond for good measure. However, I still didn't know what the hell to do about the photos on the internet. Then I remembered Kyle. He was good at this stuff, hacking and whatnot.

It was awkward, because at the time we hadn't really spoken in a while. I just showed up at his door and he didn't hesitate to let me in. It took a lot for me to ask for his help. Asking for help is something I was never good at. He didn't react when I brought up the webpage on his laptop. He was quiet about it. He gave me a small smile before getting to work. It wasn't a mocking or perverse smile – Kyle isn't that kind of person. It was the kind of smile that told me he was going to fix it, and he did fix it.

He kept on a straight face while deleting the forum thread. He didn't laugh, he didn't cringe, he didn't shy away, he didn't give me any looks of repulsion, he didn't say, "That's gross, Kenny." That made it easier for me. I really didn't need to hear any of that. I was still getting texts from strangers telling them exactly what they thought of me and what they wanted to do to me.

When he was finished, I left with an awkward "thank you" and that was that.

Whenever I think back on it all I do is wonder if any of the people who texted me knew I was only sixteen. Maybe they didn't care. I also wonder what Kyle was thinking at the time. Probably something along the lines of, "God damn, Kenny has no shame at all."

But I do. I have a lot of it.

Kyle simply shrugs, insisting, "Don't worry about it, Kenny. It was almost ten years ago."

"Sorry I never spoke to you again after that," I say, "I was uncomfortable. I felt pretty damn low."

"Understandably so," Kyle says. "Your trust was betrayed."

"Yeah…" I mumble, not really bothering to mention that there was no trust to begin with. It was just a drunken mistake. I seem to make a lot of those. I always get out of control when I drink, whether I'm fucking everything that moves or whether I'm starting fights for no damn reason.

"What's past is past, right?"

"Right."

"Does it still bother you?"

"Not really," I admit honestly, "but I still wish it never happened."

"Kids can be cruel."

"Yeah," I shrug. "Maybe it's karma, because we were no exception."

"That's true, but I like to think I've grown up since then."

I nod. I like to think I have, too, but I know that isn't the case. I've done some pretty nasty things just last week and there are people I still owe apologies to.

Kyle reaches over his desk and grabs his laptop, "Do you mind if I polish up my lesson plan?"

"Naw, it's cool," I say, sitting down next to him. "What subject are you going to be teaching?"

"An elective course in sociology and the grade twelve English courses," he says. "I have degrees sociology and English, though I've never done English classes before. It should be interesting."

"What did you _profess_ when you were in New York?"

"A senior seminar course, a class on global human issues –"

"Sounds interesting!" I cut in, though it doesn't.

Kyle senses my distaste and laughs. "I'll admit that from the course titles it doesn't sound fascinating, but it is. To me, at least."

"Yeah?"

He nods, "I know you were never fond of school but there were other courses, ones I think that even you would have been able to immerse yourself in."

"Like what?"

"Sociology of Crime, Deviance, and there was also a course called Evil in Literature."

I chuckle, "That stuff does sound a whole lot better than global crap."

Kyle shakes his head at me, but he's smiling so I guess he ain't mad. "You know, I taught a course on human sexuality."

I raise an eyebrow. The thought of Kyle talking about sex is pretty appealing.

"Nice," I say in approval.

He rolls his eyes.

"I'm gonna take a leak," I say, standing.

He nods absently, staring at his computer screen.

I leave his room and begin to wander around the hallway. There's a series of family portraits lined up and hanging on the walls. Sheila is very family-oriented and always insisted they get portraits done every year. I can remember Kyle complaining about the upcoming "portrait day" in the past.

I stare at Kyle's face in all of them and notice the way his face has changed over the years. He seems to grow solemner in each passing photograph. I guess that's what growing up does to a person, though he isn't the only one. I think we all grew a bit more solemn.

I enter the bathroom take a piss. After washing my hands I stop and stare into the mirror on the medicine cabinet door above the sink.

I'm not all that overly critical of myself like some people are, but I have my moments. I'm pretty scruffy. There is nothing special about the way I look, I already know that. I'm fairly normal, in the most boring sense of the word. I'm made out of skin and bones, just like everyone else. I have blond hair, blue eyes, a couple freckles on my nose and sure, that's all fine. I am, overall, exceedingly ordinary, but it's better that way. Who wants to have all eyes on them wherever they go? Not me.

I'm not particularly smart or emotionally stable either. I blame that on the dying, but I think everyone has a reason or two for being a little less than sane.

I feel like Kyle has many of the characteristics I lack. He's smart, and I feel like he probably thinks a lot about things no one else does. He has a good head on his shoulders.

"Hey, Kenny?" I hear him call.

I leave the bathroom and saunter back into his room.

"Did you fall in or something?" he asks.

"No," I chuckle. "I was spying."

He makes a face at me, "You better not have been."

"Just kidding, I'm not Eric."

"Thank God for that."

"Why, though? Do you have all kinds of secrets hidden away around here?"

"Not really," he says dismissively, going back to staring at the computer screen.

"How's the lesson plan coming, then?" I ask, sitting on his bed.

"I think it's all done," he says, biting his thumb.

"Still nervous about it?"

"Yeah," he admits, "It'll be weird being back there as a teacher. And you know as well as I do how high school kids can be. University students are different; they're paying for that education, so if they act up it's their own money being wasted."

"Just don't be a pushover," I shrug, "But at the same time, don't be a fuckin' dictator. Develop relationships with the kids. Be cool with them and whatever. That way they'll appreciate you, they'll feel like they can approach you. In turn you'll be able to teach them more and have them listen. They'll respect you and what you have to say."

"Valid points, but easier said than done."

"Ah, fuck that shit. You'll be fine."

He smiles briefly. "It's funny," he says, "In other parts of the world, foul language and expletives stem from blasphemy among other things. Here, it's almost all about sex and bodily functions."

"How so?" I ask, never really having given it any thought.

"To put it eloquently… Fuck, shit, piss, asshole," he shrugs, "Lest we forget the rest of those fun little words we'd say when we were kids: cocksucker, jizzbag, shitballs, boner-biter, et cetera."

I laugh loudly at the string of cusses he lets out. "Yeah, hell, I guess that's true."

"And if I say something like 'you suck' then what exactly are you sucking?" he asks.

"Dick?" I guess.

"Perhaps," he chuckles.

I find myself grinning. "You know," I begin, "When we were young, I'd always learn stuff from you. I guess now is no different. I mean, if you were teacher I might've passed with more than just a 58% average."

"Aw," he snickers.

"It's true."

"Well, thank you," he smiles.

"You'll do good," I say before correcting myself, "Sorry, I mean, you'll do _well_."

"I hope so," he says, pausing briefly before he continues, "Kenny, a 58%? _Really_?"

"Heh."

"That's so horrible," he laughs.

"Aw, come on," I defend my passing grade, "At least I didn't fail any classes, right?"

He rolls his eyes in good humor. "You had incredibly high standards, I see," he says sarcastically.

"What can I say?" I grin.

"You're one of a kind."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

I'm always possessive. Some people don't notice it when they're possessive, but I do. It's a pretty ugly sensation. It's like greed. That's all it is, really. It's greed.

I felt possessive towards Craig when we were kids. Maybe that's why I wanted to sleep with him so badly. It as if I thought that by sleeping with him I'd take a piece of him. Well… I did take his virginity, so maybe, in a way, I did take a little piece of him.

With each passing second I spend with Kyle, the more I feel the same thing starting to happen. I'd like to prevent that, but at the same time I don't want to push him away.

I have a feeling I'm going to start chasing after him again.

"So how was it seeing Stan for the first time in so long?" I ask.

"Stan… It's strange being around him now. I haven't seen him in so long. The last time we hung out together he was still an upset mess, drinking himself sick so he'd be able to see things differently. He's happy now, and as bad as it sounds, I feel like the odd one out being around him."

"Why's that?"

Kyle smiles softly, "I guess you could say I'm intimidated by people who are larger than I am. However, when I say that, I don't necessarily mean physical stature, I mean larger in life."

"Larger in life?"

He nods, "Like Stan, and even you."

"So I intimidate you?"

"In a way," he admits, "I'm envious of you. You're where I want to be in life."

Hell, he wouldn't be saying that if he knew about what I'm like when I drink… and what I do for a living apart from fixing cars. Nonetheless, I won't say any of that.

"Unemployed?" I joke.

He laughs, "No. You're content with where you stand in the outside world."

Sure, I'm content with fixing cars and shit, but shouldn't there be more? Hell, even I find myself feeling jealous of Stan sometimes. He has a little more than I do. Then again, so does Craig, but there is no way in hell I'd ever be jealous of him. He has too many issues.

"And you're not?" I ask, "You have everything the average person would want."

He scrunches up his face uncharacteristically. "Society puts too much importance on being smart, getting a good career, and making a lot of money. All that, and the idea of a nuclear family is still present. It's what my parents want from me."

"Nuclear family?" I question, feeling stupid for not knowing.

"A stay at home mother, a breadwinning father and a child or two," he gives a one-shouldered shrug, "Today, there are more options for everyone. It's a good thing."

I nod slowly, suddenly feeling like less of a failure than I was a few minutes ago. So maybe I don't have what Stan has. Maybe I never will… and maybe that's okay?

"I mean, look at me," Kyle continues, "I have all these degrees, but I still don't know what I want to do with my life. It's not glamorous at all. It's actually pretty bitter. I taught noon classes, so I could sleep in late. Though, it would have been nicer if I ended up actually sleeping during the night."

"What did you do at night?" I wiggle my eyebrows.

"No," he lets out a little laugh. "I usually just stayed up late marking papers and tests."

"That's dull," I make a face, sobering up. "I think staying up late makes people feel lonely, because while everyone else is asleep they're awake by themselves. I know when I stay up late like that I end up thinking about all the shittiest parts of my life." It might sound like a childish observation, but I think there's truth to it.

"It would probably be a lot better if I was able to manage my time better," he admits.

"Why don't you?"

He shakes his head and sighs, "I don't really know. In all honesty, I procrastinate horribly when it comes to my student's work. I just wasted a lot of time sleeping and doing pointless things when I arrived home, trying to push the fact that I have things to do out of my mind. I think _tired_ is just part of my personality now. By bed time, I'm always so tired I can't even remember allowing my head to hit the pillow."

"Maybe you just need to explore other options, kind of like you're doing now."

"Maybe."

"Or, maybe you're just stressed out. Do you have a lot on your mind or something?"

"I don't know."

I frown, "Dude, it actually sounds like you're fucking depressed as hell."

"How so?"

"You just… sound like you don't have anything to look forward to," I say.

"There's far more to depression that that."

"I know… I'm not supposed to talk about it, but Craig has depression," I say. "He didn't tell me, but I found a prescription for Prozac on the counter last year. I guess he forgot it there when he got home. Prozac. I looked it up, found out what it was. That got me curious about what depression was really all about because I knew there was obviously more to it than feeling a little sad sometimes. He was always isolating himself or sleeping. Sometimes he wouldn't even be asleep, he'd just be lying in bed, unable to move or talk. His appetite decreased, he was never interested in anything, he couldn't concentrate, and he was full of guilt. He even cried sometimes. He was quiet about it, but I knew it was happening. He used to miss a lot of work… I don't know. I know there's a lot more to it and it's complicated and stuff, but I can't remember it all."

"What is he like now?"

"His medication helps him manage, but it didn't fix him."

"Yeah…" Kyle says before I continue speaking.

"I always used to assume depression just happened because of a chemical imbalance… or something, but there's a lot to it. It's psychological, biochemical, and social as well. I once read that if someone has harsh living conditions, risk of depression increases. I also once read that really smart people often have depression, too. I can kind of understand why. Maybe it's because people like you, they understand more about the way things really work…" I shrug my shoulders.

"I already know all this, Kenny," he says, "But I'm surprised you know it. You sound like you could have gotten more than a 58% average if you put your mind to it. You underestimate yourself."

"Kyle…"

He makes a face, looking like he might start telling me off for sticking my nose in things that don't concern me, but he doesn't. He just laughs it off. "I'm not depressed," he insists, "but I appreciate your concern."

"Okay," I relent.

"Do you find this sort of stuff interesting?" he asks.

"Not in a morbid sort of way. I just want to understand."

"You should look up Emile Durkheim's study _Suicide_."

"Who's that?"

"He was a French sociologist," Kyle explains, "To this day he remains incredibly influential."

"Oh," I say.

Sounds kind of boring, but I won't tell Kyle that.

"I cite him in some of my research articles."

"You write articles?"

He nods.

"Have you ever been published?"

He nods again, "Would you like to read them sometime?"

"Yeah," I say, somewhat curious to see what kinds of things Kyle writes about. Probably academic junk with all kinds of statistics, but hell, if it'd make Kyle happy I'd take an interest in it.

"Are you interested in philosophy at all?"

I crinkle my nose. "The grade twelve elective turned me off the subject forever!"

He chuckles, "I thought you would be interested in it."

"Why?"

"Gods, afterlife, questions about existence… You are a philosopher's dream. You're probably the only person on the planet who has the answers to these questions."

"Ehh…" I make a face, "I prefer not to think about that kind of stuff when I'm with myself. I experience enough of it when I die, I don't need my life to be consumed with those thoughts as well. Y'know?"

"Yeah," he says, "I suppose that makes sense. If it would be okay with you, would you mind talking about it with me sometime?"

"Sure," I shrug.

He smiles again, that overly polite smile he's been giving me all night. The smile that makes me feel like we're just simple strangers.


	4. Memories

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for the nice reviews ~ **

* * *

When I woke up this morning there was a pile of clothing on the floor. They weren't mine. I don't know whose they were, so I just shut my eyes again and pretended I was asleep.

It's awkward as hell when that kind of shit happens. The only thing I really remember is wishing it was Kyle and not some random person I don't care about.

It's been a few days since I hung out with Kyle, but I've been thinking about it an awful lot. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much I missed him while he was gone.

I heard footsteps approaching my room, the door creaking open, the rustling of what I assumed were clothes being put back on, more footsteps, and then nothing.

I still kept my eyes sewn shut for many long minutes after whoever was here left.

I don't know why.

After I finally opened my eyes, I got out of bed, stretched my limbs and got dressed.

* * *

"Have fun last night?" Craig asks, sipping on a cup of coffee as I finally leave my room. He's standing in the middle of the living room with that typical, uncaring look on his face.

"Hm?" I tilt my head to the side.

"Don't act dumb," he says.

I smile. "Did I wake you?"

"Wake me? No," he states dryly, "To be woken, one has to be asleep. Sleep is something I didn't get enough of last night thanks to you."

I scoff, "I highly doubt it was that bad. Stop exaggerating."

"Have some fucking self-respect," he snaps suddenly. "If you're going to sleep with someone at least do it sober. You know the idea of someone looking better when you're drunk actually does have some truth to it. Don't sleep with someone drunk that you wouldn't sleep with sober."

"You're guilty of doing it, too," I point out.

"I've cleaned myself up since then," he spits.

"Christ, you're moody lately," I cross my arms. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"I live here, too," he takes another sip of his coffee before continuing, "When you fuck around it doesn't just affect you, it affects me as well."

"Piss off, Craig," I say, walking past him and into the kitchen to get something to eat.

He follows me, taking a seat at the table. "So, how hung over are you?"

"Not too bad," I admit, filling up a glass of water before sitting across from him.

"Hey," I say, spotting the box of cigarettes sitting on the table in front of him, "I thought you quit."

"I did," he says, "But I started again."

"Why?" I ask. "Won't Tweek be pissed off?"

"We're fighting," Craig looks away. "Right now I don't care what he thinks."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Anyway," he changes the subject before I can pry, "I'm going to work."

"Have a good day…" I tell him.

* * *

Eric spots me and Kyle as we walk into Shakey's later on in the day.

"Poor-Boy," he greets us from behind the counter, "And the Jew. My, my."

"Fat-ass," I retort and Kyle just smiles at what I can only assume is the familiarity of it all.

"I think he's secretly happy you're back," I whisper to him.

"Yeah," Kyle snorts, "Just so he can have someone else to taunt."

I take a seat at a nearby table. "Heh, yeah, Butters isn't quite as fun as you are."

"Ah, well at least I'm good for something," he jokes, taking a seat next to me.

I wiggle my eyebrows. "I can think of something else you'd be good for."

His lips part in shock, but he looks amused at the same time. "Kenny!" he laughs, "No!"

"Kidding, kidding," I chuckle, even though I'm totally not. I just want to see how far I can push things… How far he'll let me push things. Maybe that's a dick move on my part.

"What's so funny?" Eric asks, joining us.

"Nothing, nothing," I say.

The night continues. The three of us just hang out at Shakey's and talk about the old times, the bad, but mostly the good.

Suddenly Kyle gets a look of humor on his face.

"What is it?" Eric asks.

He starts laughing. "Remember the time Barbrady tried to arrest Kenny for public nudity?"

"Oh, dude, no," I cover my face in my hands. "That was so embarrassing."

Shit, I can still see Barbrady's fat jiggling around as he chased me around the dark streets while the rest of the guys just laughed and laughed and laughed.

Eric snorts, "You didn't seem so embarrassed at the time."

"I was drunk as hell!" I protest.

Ah. I totally forgot about that night.

A group of us guys got drunk in my backyard one day in the summer when we were fifteen. We stole alcohol and spent the night torturing each other with disgusting dares. You know how kids are.

Eric tried hard to get Kyle to suck his balls yet again, but Kyle wasn't having any of it. So instead, we just had Kyle eat a spider we found and then forced Eric to let Kyle kick him in the nuts as hard as he could. Just desserts.

Clyde had to let Craig burn his forearm with a cigarette. He didn't want to, but we ended up convincing him it wouldn't hurt much. What a lie that was. Craig laughed and Clyde ended up crying. Heh heh. Poor guy.

Stan had to eat a piece of bacon, which was a big deal for him since he went vegetarian when we were twelve. Eric pissed in an empty beer can and tried to get Craig to gargle it, but Craig just flipped him off and went home.

Lastly, I was told to run down the street naked. It was late and there was no one around so it wouldn't have been so bad if Barbrady hadn't been patrolling. I flung off my clothes and ran into the front yard. As soon as I stepped foot on the street, I was facing a cop car and the headlights were shining right at me.

"Oh, shit!" I yelled, cupping a hand over my junk.

"What's going on here?" Barbrady asked, rolling down his window.

"Someone's chasing me!" I blurted out, thinking fast.

Barbrady would have believed it if the rest of the guys didn't choose that moment to make themselves visible.

"Liar!" Eric shouted. "Arrest him, Officer! He's an exhibitionist and his lewd ways are harmful to my sensitive nature!"

So that's when I started to run. Barbrady got out of his car and chased after me while the guys just laughed hysterically.

Jeez. Looking back on it, we were all pretty vile to each other. I guess sometimes we still are. It's a wonder we're friends after everything that's happened.

"Ugh," Kyle shudders, "I can still feel the spider moving on my tongue."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't have had to eat a spider of you didn't chicken out on your first dare."

"Like hell I'd ever suck your balls," Kyle scoffs. "I'd rather eat a hundred spiders than suck your balls. I doubt I would have even been able to find them under all that lard, anyway."

"Ay, I'm not fat. I was never fat – just big boned."

"That's what you say to make yourself feel better, tubs" I snort.

We continue to talk about disgusting and embarrassing moments we've inflicted upon one another. Many of these were times I was paid to do ridiculous shit no one else wanted to do themselves.

I ate mice, ate shit, washed my hair with battery acid, gave a _certain_ show host a blowjob… So on, so on.

Fucking crazy Kenny McCormick.

* * *

I head back near nine and lounge around until Craig gets home.

"Welcome back," I yell when I hear the front door open.

Craig slowly walks into the kitchen chewing on his thumb.

"Stop biting your nails," I say for what must be the millionth time. He has too many bad habits.

He looks at me and pauses, bringing both of his hands down onto the counter loudly.

I jump at the sound.

"What the fuck?" I yell.

I hear Craig let out a long sigh.

"Hey…" I say, "You good?"

He turns around and I hear him say, "I'm going to bed."

"Craig –"

"Fuck off, McCormick."

"Come on," I follow him into his room, "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" he raises his voice, spinning around so we're face-to-face. This is when I smell the alcohol.

"Talk," I demand.

He flips me off.

"Please?"

"You're such a fucking hypocrite."

"What do you mean?"

"You go around trying to help," he says, waving around his hands. "You dry so goddamn hard, but that doesn't hide the way you really feel about it."

"About what?"

"You're overcompensating," he continues, shoving me. "You hate being around me, I know you do! You go around pretending to understand, pretending you are so altruistic! You're not! The only reason you try to help is to hide the fact that I piss you off so goddamn much!"

With each word, his voice grows louder until he's all but screaming in my face. His eyes are wet and I can tell he's trying really goddamn hard not to cry.

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?" he shouts.

"I'm listening, Craig."

He grinds his teeth together, letting out sharp breaths.

"Hit me," I say.

"What?" he asks tersely.

"Hit me," I say again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"It'll make you feel better."

"McCormick, you moron! Not everything can be solved with violence!"

"I know," I shrug, "I'm not saying it'll solve anything. I'm just saying you might feel a little better, right?

"You want me to hit you so you'll feel better about yourself."

"That's not true."

"Stop lying to me!"

"I'm not lying, Craig," I insist, "You just don't want to believe that there's someone who wants to help you. You're seeing things that aren't actually here."

Craig lets out an almost inaudible sob, "You're lying!"

I frown. "Craig…"

"Just stop," he hisses.

"No –"

He lets out another sad sound and swings his fist into my face.

I fall backwards into the hallway, crashing into the wall. Damn, I forgot how hard he hit. It's been a long time since we fought, let alone like this.

He shuts the door and I just sit against the wall nursing my soon-to-be-bruised jaw. I just sit here, listening to him crying inside his room.

Maybe I should call Tweek…

No.

I think he'd kill me if I just went and did that without warning.

Craig wants to take care of Tweek, not the other way around. I know that if he let Tweek see him like that he'd just feel like he wouldn't be able to protect him. Craig wants to be independent. He hates depending on people for anything. I'd like to tell him that this doesn't make him weak. It doesn't make him anything less, but I can never figure out what to say until after Craig pushes me away. You think that after nearly ten years of this kind of shit I'd be used to it, but it isn't really something you get used to.

When I finally do stand up, I open the door and walk into Craig's room. He's sitting on his bed staring at the wall.

"Kenny…" his voice is quiet.

"Hm?"

"Sorry…"

"Aw, shut up, man, you have nothin' to be sorry about," I say, walking towards his night table and opening the top drawer.

I take out the full prescription bottle. "You haven't been taking these?" I ask.

"I don't need that shit," he says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Well," I shrug, "It's a little better than getting drunk."

"Says you."

Here I am again, being a god damn hypocrite. I guess it's somethin' I'm awful good at these days.

"Heh," I sigh, "You got me there."

He sniffs, not saying anything else.

"If you don't want me to help you out anymore, then at least call Tweek."

"We're still fighting."

"So? He loves you. He wouldn't hesitate to come if called."

"He'd think I was weak."

"Dude, no, he wouldn't. You're not weak."

"I thought I was tough when I was a kid… Kids are like that, you know… I thought that I could handle anything, that I was strong… but those feelings are stronger."

"Once again, you are not weak. Crying doesn't make you weak. Being sad doesn't make you weak," I say, "Quite the opposite, it shows that you're strong."

"How?"

"You're still here, aren't you?" I ask, "It means you're a fighter. It's fine to break down every once in a while."

"But it takes a stronger person to actually go through with killing themselves."

I should have expected him to say something like this. He always speaks so coolly about the possibility of not living. It's unsettling.

"You wouldn't do that," I say.

"How do you know?"

"You have things you want to live for."

"So do a lot of people who kill themselves."

I let out a quiet sigh. "Relationships are about giving and taking, right? So just let Tweek give you something this one time."

"I don't want him to see me like this. You know how he is," he says. "He stresses out about every little fucking thing. I want to take care of shit so he won't have to…"

"I'm sure that Tweek wouldn't want that."

"… I know," he admits.

"He wants to help you."

"Fine…" Craig closes his eyes and, in a calm voice, says, "Can you call him for me?"

"Yeah," I say softly.

Craig nods his head lightly, not opening his eyes.

I walk out of the room and go to get my cellphone. I search through my contact until I come under the T's and then I click Tweek's name.

"Hello?" comes the scratchy, ever-frantic voice on the other end.

"Hey, man, it's Kenny," I say.

"Hey, Kenny."

"Can you come over here?"

"Sure – nng – but why?"

"Craig needs you," I say.

"_He_ needs _me_?" he asks, seeming surprised, as if it was near impossible.

"Yeah, he needs you."

"On my way," he says before hanging up the phone.

I think Tweek is insecure for a number of reasons and well, he's insecure around me because I took his boyfriend's virginity. I guess I understand that. It was a shitty move on my part, but I can't say that I regret it. If I did, I'd be lying. I wanted to ensure that Craig and I would be bounded for life because, once again, I'm selfish. I'm especially selfish when it comes to people. I don't want anyone to leave me, and if they do, then I want them to at least remember me. Forever.

Either way...

Maybe this will bring Craig and Tweek closer.

As shitty as it all is, maybe something good will be able to come out of it.


	5. Distance

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**I went away, but I'm home now. I'm just too obsessed with Animal Crossing: New Leaf to go anywhere near my computer. Gahhahah. **

* * *

Kyle sent me a message this morning asking me to come over sometime today. I think he wants to interrogate me. If it'll make him happy, then sure, I'll answer his questions. I'll feed his curiosity.

So I do a few deals before shoving the junk back in my backpack and I begin to make my way to the richer part of town.

I tighten the drawstrings on my hood as it begins to snow and I shoot Kyle a text telling him I'm almost at his place and minutes later my phone beeps.

I open my phone and read the text –

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: _My parents are gone out, so you can just walk right in. _

How like Kyle to send a text with perfect spelling and shit. I type in my response on the miniature keyboard –

YOU: _k cool_

I feel opportunistic, but I also feel kinda disappointed for it. I shouldn't be trying to get into Kyle's pants, especially after just becoming a part of his life again. It would probably screw things up between us… Then again, maybe not. I'm Kenny McCormick, so maybe he expects this kind of shit from me, considering how I behaved as a child. It hasn't really changed, not that Kyle has spent enough time around me to figure that out yet.

I run up the Broflovski driveway. And swing open the door, walking inside.

"Yo, Ike," I greet the little Canadian genius, who is sitting on the sofa with his laptop.

"Kenny," he says, looking over at me. "Long time no see." He stands up and approaches me.

"I know," I laugh, "Hell, you're tall."

"Yeah," he smiles, "I'm way taller than Kyle."

"I bet he loves that," I snort. "How's university going?"

"Good," he states, "Summer break was nice, but it'll be good to be back there."

"Shit, yah don't hear that often."

Ike smirks, "I know, I know."

"What're you studying?"

"Clinical psychology."

I raise an eyebrow, "Damn. You and Kyle are both big brains, huh?"

He laughs, "I guess so."

"Where do you go?"

"Dalhousie."

"Where's that?"

"Nova Scotia, Canada."

I snicker. "Exploring your roots, then?"

"You know it," he grins. "I also discovered a talent for hockey and a taste for maple syrup, so talk about a walking stereotype."

"That's great," I chuckle. "So, where's big brother at? Upstairs?"

"Yep," Ike says, "He's in his room."

"Cool, thanks –"

"Kenny," he cuts me off as I begin to turn around.

"Hm?" I look back.

"Don't… uh… Well," he pauses, "Don't fuck with him."

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently.

"What I mean is… Don't fuck him."

How did he know? What a clever little shit. He's too intuitive for his own good.

I raise an eyebrow, "Why would you say a thing like that?"

"Because I know what kind of guy you are, no offence. Your behaviour is often… Well, salacious."

"Ouch, your words… they hurt," I say dramatically. To be honest, I don't know what the fuck that even means but it probably means he thinks I'm a perv. I guess I can't really deny that.

"Shut up," he frowns, staring at me with intent. "I'm being serious. I don't know if you've noticed, but Kyle…" he trails off.

"Kyle what?"

"He's…" Ike pauses, "He just doesn't need any of your shit right now. He's stressed enough as it is… about the new job."

"I solemnly swear that there will be no giving of shit," I say, holding up a hand.

He rolls his eyes at me. "There better not be," he warns one last time before waving me off.

Jeez, what's up his ass?

I run up the stairs and knock on Kyle's door, giving him a moments warning before opening it.

"Hey, Kenny," he smiles, shoving a bookmark into a book he has apparently been reading. He's sitting on his bed wearing a pair of flannel pajamas and a grey sweatshirt with a university logo on it. "What's that bruise from?"

"Craig punched me last night," I laugh.

He raises an eyebrow, "And that's funny why…?"

"Well," I say, "It isn't _really_ funny, per se... I asked for it. Literally."

"Why?"

"I thought it might make him feel better."

"Was he angry at you?"

"No," I shake my head. "He was just upset in general."

"Some things can't be solved with violence, Kenny."

"Yeah, that's what he said to me, but he did throw a punch nonetheless. Maybe for a second it did make him feel better."

Kyle frowns. "You're so odd," he says.

I just laugh some more. To be honest… I think violence can solve most things. It can relieve anger, it can give a person a sense of retribution... But maybe that's just me. Maybe that's why I'm often swinging my fists when I'm drunk.

Throughout the years both Stan and Eric have been on the receiving end of my punches. If possible, I'd like to prevent Kyle from experiencing violence at my hand.

"Anyway, what's up?" I ask, sitting next to him. "What're you reading?"

"_In Search of April Raintree_," he says, gingerly placing the book on his nightstand.

"Never heard of it," I shrug.

"I hadn't either until recently," he explains, "Ike bought it for me while he was in Canada."

"It's a Canadian book?"

He nods. "It's about two Metis sisters. It's… It's actually very sad and difficult to read at times."

"Gonna cry?" I chuckle.

"Heh, maybe I will by the end of it."

Kyle has always been a little emotional. So has Stan. Maybe that's why they were always best friends. They always had something more than what they shared with Eric and I. Eric and I are a little deviant. Well, a lot.

"So what have you been up to?" I ask.

"I went to see Stan at work late last night after you went home. Cartman came with," Kyle smiles faintly.

"Oh," I say, "That's cool." I was considering hanging around with them for longer, but I didn't. Though I have to admit it's probably a good thing I just went home. "Did you see Craig?" I ask.

"Actually, yes. He was with Token and Clyde."

"Oh," I nod, relieved he wasn't with anyone sketchy.

"You know, Cartman really has changed a lot. I almost didn't recognize him when we walked into Shakey's yesterday."

"Yeah?" I ask, "How?"

"Well, he isn't _as_ fat, for one thing. Still fat, but probably not in the danger zone," Kyle laughs, "Haven't you noticed?"

"Not really," I say, "I guess it's because I still see him all the time. You, on the other hand, haven't seen him in a long-ass time. His girlfriend has probably been a positive influence on him."

"Who's he seeing?"

"Red… Rebecca."

"Oh, wow. Good for them," he smiles. "I wish I had kept in better touch. Even with Stan, we spoke, but not as often as I would've liked."

"That's okay," I shrug, "You were busy, right?"

"I suppose so."

"So, hey."

"Hm?"

"Since we're hanging out again does this mean we're friends again?" I ask, leaning forward.

"Kenny," he laughs awkwardly, "Personal space."

I draw back. Okay, so maybe I won't be getting any.

"Of course we're friends," he continues. "I think we've always been the type of people who don't have to talk every day. We can go years without talking and pick up right where we left off."

Maybe he sees it like this, but I can't. I know that it's selfish of me, but I don't just want to be his friend. Being away from him this long has changed things. Nonetheless, I won't say any of that just yet.

"Yeah," I say, "I agree."

"So, anyway," Kyle says, getting straight down to business. "I want to write about you, if that is okay."

I tilt my head to the side, "You want to write about me?"

He nods, adjusting his glasses. "If that's okay with you," he clarifies.

"It is…" I say, "But do you think anyone will believe such an outrageous piece of writing? Don't you usually write articles?"

"Oh, no," he laughs. "Call this a personal project," he stands up and takes a seat at his desk, cracking open his laptop. "A bit of a distraction, if you must."

"A distraction?"

He nods. "Something to do for fun."

"You're weird," I say in good humor.

"It's just always something I've been curious about."

"What is?"

"You."

"Me?"

He nods again. "It's all fascinating – You die, you come back. I'd say that is pretty incredible. Ever since finding out the truth, I've been curious why it happens to you. Where do you go? What do you see? How do you get back?"

I laugh. "Which question do you want me to answer first?"

He's smiling, and for some reason he looks a hell of a lot happier than he did when he was smiling all those other times. I guess he's in his element.

"What's so fascinating to you about this junk anyway?" I ask.

"I just want to understand how the world works. So many people are busy contemplating the possibilities of an afterlife, yet no one is truly sure about it. You, however, are sure of it. You're… somewhat of a direct link to the afterlife. You're often in between."

I guess it's boring to me because it's something I'm so used to experiencing.

I smile lazily as he continues his rant. He talks a lot more than he used to. Then again, so do I these days. I used to hide away in my little orange parka, similarly Kyle hid away behind his intelligence. A lot of the kids in school shamed him for it, but I think he's embraced it since we were young.

He pauses, laughing again. So," he says, "How long have you been dying?"

"For as long as I can remember," I begin. I tell him about my ties with the well-known entity called Cthulhul, the Necronomicon, and about how my parents were once part of the cult. He keeps nodding, typing away as I speak. I tell him about some of my craziest deaths, too.

"Have you ever tried on purpose?" he asks carefully once he's stopped typing. He glances over at me, looking young and curious.

"To kill myself?" I specify.

He nods.

"I had a rough night. I got angry… I woke up to the sound of the shower spraying, and the cold touch of water prickling against my skin. I was drunk and those cuts I made weren't nearly deep enough. I needed a getaway, even if it would just be for a few hours… But, God... How fucking embarrassing. I couldn't even do that right…" I look at him solemnly before cracking a smile, "Just kidding."

"Wow," he deadpans, with a frown, "You're an asshole."

"I know," I say, laughing.

"Be serious, Kenny."

"I have."

"I thought so…" he mumbles, "Can you tell me about it?"

"Well, shit, I guess the only reason I truly did it was because I knew I'd come back. I wouldn't have done that if I wasn't going to come back. I do value my life now, but when I was young I didn't really value my life as much as a mortal person would. I killed myself in front of you guys when we were kids because I was tired and frustrated and upset. None of you believed me when I said I kept dying and coming back."

Kyle nods, understanding. "I'm sorry," he says.

It took a hell of a lot of convincing for them to finally believe me. Eric ended up backing me up, since, for some strange reason, he always knew.

"Ah, well. It happened a long time ago. I wasn't comfortable with what was happening to me."

"And you are now?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I am. I've accepted the good and the bad."

"What are some of the good parts of dying all the time?"

I tell him about heaven, I tell him about hell, I tell him about the pain, and I tell him about being able to visit with the deceased. Good ol' Chef, among many others.

"I guess this is why you've never been upset at a funeral," Kyle says.

"Yeah," I shrug. "I guess, because I've died so many times, I can now look at things a little different than everyone else."

"That makes sense."

It feels strange to have someone take such an interest in this part of my life – strange in a good way. Never before has anyone asked me about it like this. Usually the questions are fleeting, quick and altogether thoughtless. Kyle… I can tell his fascination is genuine. He wants to understand.

He continues to talk and ask me questions, while I do my best to give him as much detail as I can. However, with each passing minute I notice something. Kyle used to be different. I've began to notice the small things, like how he inches away from people. If you take a step forward, he'll take a step back. He shies away from people who get too close and I'm wondering why that is.

He used to sit close to me. Close enough that we'd be bumping shoulders. I don't think it made me special or anything, because he did it with Stan, too and, once in a blue moon, even Cartman when they were on good terms. I guess some people stay close to others because, in reality, they're so far away. They revel in that human contact, but they're never _truly_ being touched.

I think, in ways, Kyle was like that. He was there, but at the same time, he wasn't. He was always somewhere else and I had spent a lot of time wondering where that was. I thought that maybe it was a smart-person thing. That maybe we were all too stupid to relate to any of the thoughts in his head, but I look back on it and realize how dumb that sounds. I doubt it was anything like that. Either way, today it's different. I can see it. It's almost the opposite now. He talks a lot more, as if he's compensating for being so far away.


	6. Wasted

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Last chapter before university starts up again. Gross. **

* * *

Later in the day, I find Tweek making coffee in the kitchen.

"Before last night," he begins quietly, "I'd never seen Craig upset – not even when we were little."

I smile sympathetically. I've seen it loads of times, but I'll keep that to myself.

"I didn't –nng– know what to do," Tweek continues.

"I think being there for him was more than enough," I say.

"I hope it was," he frowns.

"You were fighting, right?"

He nods.

"I think this is why. He was putting too much pressure on himself," I say, "and I think since he let you see this part of him, it will better your relationship."

"That would be nice."

I just wink at him. "Hey, make me a cup of that, will yah?"

"Sure," he chuckles.

"You should also check and make sure he takes his medication," I note. "I don't want to sound annoying, but I think he should. I notice a difference when he doesn't take it."

"Me, too," Tweek admits. "So, anyway, what have you been up to?"

"Been hanging out with Kyle."

"Oh, right, he's –nng– back here, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"What have you two been doing?"

"Just talking and shit," I say as he hands me a cup of coffee and sits down across from me. "Thanks."

He nods. "That's good. Catching up?"

"Yeah, mostly. He's a hell of a lot different than I remember him being."

"Well, it's no wonder," Tweek sips his coffee. "It's been years since you've seen him, right?"

"Yeah, that's true. He writes those scholarly articles. I bet his name would come up a lot of you googled him," I chuckle, feeling pride for my friend. "Fuckin' Dr. Kyle Broflovski."

"That's impressive," Tweek smiles.

Minutes later Craig walks into the kitchen looking like he just rolled out of bed. His hair is sticking up and his eyes are squinting at the room's brightness.

"Good _morning_," I say to him.

He grunts his response, and then hesitantly and awkwardly thanks me. He doesn't say what he's thanking me for, but then again, he doesn't have to say it. I know that would be asking for too much.

I have to smile. It's pretty difficult to get him to express gratitude… or, well, anything.

"Anytime, Craig."

* * *

When it gets dark, I head over to the bar to see Stan. He fixes me a pretty heavy drink and we just mindless chat about stupid stuff.

"So, you must be happy to have Kyle back here," I say.

He smiles as he washes a glass cup. "Yeah," he chuckles. "It's weird, but it's a really good kind of weird. You know?"

"Heh, yeah, I know."

"Have you seen him much?" he asks.

"Yeah, I hung out with him a few times."

"That's good."

I nod. "We're mostly getting to know each other again, I think. It's been a really long time since I've seen him or spoke to him. Apart from you, most of us grew apart from him when he skipped a grade and went to high school."

"Yeah," Stan frowns. "He's been busy. It was hard to keep in touch with him sometimes, to be honest. Especially after he moved away from South Park."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "He had a pretty busy life in New York. He taught classes, he marked papers, he had his new friends, and he was dating."

"Yeah?" I ask again. I wonder what kind of person Kyle would date. For some reason, I can't really picture him with a girl and that's probably why I'm trying to screw around with him. Ah, I'm such a dick.

Stan chuckles. "Yeah, really. I was surprised, too. He's never really been into dating. I think he always just focused on his schooling, but I guess as he got older he found someone."

"Well, that's good…" I say. "Are they still together?"

"Nah," he shakes his head.

"Why not?"

"I really don't know," he admits. "Kyle was always pretty quiet about the whole thing. He never told me much about the guy. I guess he just likes to keep his private life private, even from us. Fair enough, right?"

"So, it was a guy?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he says. "Kyle's gay."

"Reaaaally?" I ask, suddenly a hell of a lot more interested.

Stan snorts, shaking his head at me. "Yeah… he only came out a couple years ago, so I guess it makes sense that you didn't know." He gives me a look, "You better not try anything…"

I roll my eyes. "What's with everyone saying that to me lately?"

Stan smiles sympathetically, "It's because we know you, Kenny… No offence, but you're just like that."

_Like that… _

I shrug unceremoniously before finishing the rest of my drink. "Well," I say, "I'll be leaving now."

"You good to walk home alone?" Stan asks. "You're not exactly sober."

"Pfft, duh," I laugh, "what's the worst that could happen? I'll get stabbed and be back tomorrow. Woop-dee-fucking-do."

"I guess…" Stan relents. "See you later on."

"Yep, 'later."

* * *

As I stumble down the dark streets, I hear someone call out –

"McCormick, is that you?"

Ugh. Great.

I turn around, spotting one of the town junkies. A particularly annoying asshole that I am often forced to associate with since I'm his dealer.

Just what I need.

"Yeah, what?" I ask, crossing my arms as he steps forward.

He smiles a peevish kind of smile before planting his fist in my face and stomping on my stomach after I fall over.

I feel like I could puke up a lung.

"What the fuck?" I choke and cough, scrambling to stand up only to be pushed down again. It's all the worse in my drunken stupor.

Christ almighty!

I should've waited for Stan to get off work after all… Why the fuck does this shit happen when I really don't want it to?

I prepare for death, but oddly enough, it doesn't come… Strange, but it rarely does anymore.

Jesus!

The least the asshole could do is fuckin' kill me so I don't need to run around with all these fuckin' bruises. Healing takes time, and I don't really want to waste time over something like this.

The dick takes my backpack, furiously opening it and going through the contents.

"There's nothing in there," I say, knowing exactly what he's looking for.

"Tsk," he clicks his tongue, tossing my backpack onto the pavement out of frustration before running away and leaving me on the pavement.

* * *

After I gather the strength to finally stand up, I wander towards Kyle's house because it's closer than mine is and it's better than walking back to the bar and making a scene.

Hell, he must be getting sick and tired of seeing my face at his doorstep so often.

"Hi, again," I hold up a hand, waving as he opens the door.

"Kenny?" he asks, sounding and looking mortified as he takes in my messy state.

"Heh," I chuckle. "Sorry to drop in by this, but your place is closer than mine and it hurts to walk."

He opens the door wider, hurrying me in.

"What the hell happened?" He frowns as he leads me into the bathroom.

"I got..." I pause, "mugged."

He raises an eyebrow. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you fucking are! You hesitated just now, I caught it, so you can't deny it."

"Kyle –"

"Don't lie to me, asshole. What really happened?" he crosses his arms.

I smirk. Kyle can be tough when he wants to. "You really don't want to know, Kyle. Trust me when I say that."

"Oh, really? Why's that? Do you think I'm too weak-hearted?" he snorts, getting the first aid kit out as I take a seat on the toilet lid.

"No…" I sigh, lifting up my shirt to show him the bruises. "I guess it's more that I don't want you to know."

"Kenny, why? My opinion of you isn't going to change. You could be doing crack for all I care, and I'd still like you the same…"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Though I'd probably want to get you out of that habit." He presses his fingers to them gently. "Does that hurt?" he asks.

"It's tolerable…"

I let out a sigh as I watch him move before cleaning the cut on my cheek. He has a look of concentration on his face – his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyebrows drawn together…

"… I wanna fuck you," I say before I can stop myself. When I'm drunk, it's always word vomit. I can't supress it.

He looks taken aback. "Kenny, you're drunk."

"Yeah, I'm drunk," I admit, "But in the morning I'll be sober and I'll still wanna fuck you."

His cheeks are pink and he doesn't say anything for what feels like a while. "Why?" he finally asks in a quiet voice.

"Because I like you."

He's looking at me like I've just asked him an algebra equation. I can't help but feel an odd sense of pity towards him. I want to tell him that there are things in life far more complicated than math. Feelings, for one thing.

He just shakes his head. "No, you don't," he insists, putting away the first aid kit.

"Yeah, I do," I say. "I'm into you."

He shifts uncomfortably. "Stop saying that…"

"Why?"

"Because…" he mumbles, trailing off. "You're… You're just trying to change the subject. You don't want to tell me what's really going on."

"That's what's really going on," I say.

He gives me a look I can't quite place. "So," he deadpans, "you got beat up because you're into me?"

"Well… no…" I admit.

"Wait," Kyle mumbles, "Was this an act of homophobia?"

"No, Kyle," I sigh, "I was lying… I just got beat up by someone who wanted something from me."

"Well, who was it?"

"A… client," I say carefully.

For a minute, he doesn't say anything. He's just quiet, as if he's contemplating what kind of client I'm referring to.

"Someone whose car you fixed?" he asks.

"No… from another job."

"Another job?"

I nod. "I have a two jobs."

"Kenny…" Kyle pauses. "I have a question."

"Okay, shoot."

"Will you promise to answer truthfully?"

"Er… yeah, sure."

"Are you a prostitute?"

Well, I didn't see that question coming.

"Oh… what? Dude, no," I wave my hands all around and Kyle flinches away from the vigorous gesture.

Trust me, I've considered the option, but, contrary to popular belief, I don't just fuck anyone… Er, unless I'm drunk, but that doesn't count.

"Then…" he pauses again. "Are you selling drugs?"

X marks the fucking spot.

I don't say anything for a minute. "…Yeah."

I feel my eyes wander away. I don't want to see the expression he's probably wearing, but I can hear him sighing nonetheless.

"Okay," he states, placing a hand on my shaggy hair, "It's okay, Kenny…"

I should've known he'd react like this.

Everything is always okay.

Nothing is ever wrong.

He's never angry.

He's always so fucking understanding. I never could understand why.

Truthfully, I can't remember the last time I've seen him truly angry. It was probably because of Eric, but that hardly counts. He always puts on that goddamn smile and tells you that it's okay.

"Yeah…" I mumble awkwardly.

"Just… be careful," Kyle says.

I roll my eyes, "It isn't a problem."

"Drugs are highly addictive with many negative side effects and –"

"Kyle," I interrupt bluntly, shaking him by the shoulders. "Do you remember who you're talking to? I'm Kenny McCormick. I can't develop addictions because I'll probably die before it gets that far. If I overdose, I'll just come back good as new."

"Still," Kyle frowns, "It's awful… And you could potentially still develop a mental addiction rather than a purely physical one."

"Kyle, don't worry, I have no interest in putting this shit into my body."

"Promise?"

"Yep."

"Good."


	7. Slur

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Sorry for the late update! **

* * *

I ended up staying the night at Kyle's since I was too sore to walk to the opposite side of town, where I live. I stayed in the guestroom, though I would have preferred to chill in Kyle's bed for the night.

Ah, well.

I guess Kyle's pretty rigid when it comes to that kind of shit. I never really knew.

Nothing else was said about my little side job, but I'm sure he'll bring it up again on a later date. I'm sort of dreading that.

I woke up in the middle of the night hearing movement coming from upstairs. As I grew closer to the sound I realized they were faint moans – mind out of the gutter! I'm not trying to say that Kyle was having _sweet dreams_, it sounded more like a bad one.

It was around 4 AM and I tried to make my way up the hall towards his room, but Sheila and Gerald were on their way down, still in their night clothes.

"Hello, Kenny," they said in unison.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski," I said. "Sorry to stay the night like this."

Gerald waved his hand dismissively, "It's never a problem."

They begin to walk downstairs, and I trail behind them, full of questions I'm not comfortable enough to ask.

Sheila walks into the kitchen, making tea. She offered me some, but I politely declined. I've never been much of a tea-drinker.

"Is Kyle okay?" I asked Gerald as we follow Sheila into the kitchen short moments later.

"He is," the older man insisted, "he just has a lot on his mind lately."

"Anything I can help him with?"

"That's sweet," Sheila cut in, "but I don't think so, Kenny."

* * *

I ended up going home after having an awkward conversation with Kyle's parents.

The following evening I hear my phone ring.

"Hello?" I say.

"Kenny?" comes Kyle's voice.

I find myself wondering what state he was in before he called, because his voice sounds wet. I can almost imagine seeing him. His eyes are probably bloodshot, his cheeks flushed. I find myself feeling bad for him, though I know he'd hate me if I told him that. Pity isn't quite the same as compassion.

"Yeah," I say in the softest voice I can, "how are you?"

I hear him sniff, and let out a sigh, followed by a laugh. "You probably know the answer to that question without me having to say a damn word."

I feel myself smiling one of those sympathetic smiles because he's right. Good thing he can't see it. I know he'd hate being on the receiving end of my sympathy.

"Yeah," I whisper.

He's quiet and I hear him sighing on the other end.

"You can't run away from yourself. I know you'd deny it, but I can see how hard you're trying. I think we're all guilty of it. I mean… I don't know what's wrong. I'm an idiot, but I'm smart enough to tell that there's been something on your mind ever since you got back. I'm not going to make you tell me, but if you ever need an ear I'll be here. I always am."

People don't just come back to South Park because they miss it. They come back because they need to.

"Thank you," I hear.

"Do you want me to come over, Kyle?" I ask.

"No," he whispers, "Can you just… talk some more."

"What about?"

"Anything."

"Hm," I muse, "All right." I chuckle, before regaling Kyle with a story I know will interest him, and possibly lighten his mood a bit. "A couple years ago I was walking past a construction site when BAM, I was hit in the head by one of those massive metal pipe things. You know what I'm talking about, right? Well, shit, I know the story sounds morbid right now, but it gets funny, I swear –"

I continue to talk about mindless silly moments I've spent in hell, feeling somewhat prideful each time I hear him let out quiet laughter on the other end.

We talk for a good two hours, and I feel my own voice growing a bit hoarse from overuse.

"So… do you feel better?" I ask.

"Thank you, Kenny," he says, not quite answering the question. His own voice sounds hoarser than usual, too.

"For what?" I ask.

"Being here. Talking with me. Giving me your time. You're a good person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"You too, Kyle," I say just before he hangs up.

I set my cell phone on my nightstand before getting up and wandering out into the living room.

Craig is in front of the television, watching the news. I don't know why he's watching it. It's like he wants to be upset or something. Jesus.

As I move closer, I notice that he isn't even awake.

Jeez, and it's only 7 PM!

What a dork.

I roll my eyes at the sight of his drooling face. Aw, who am I kidding? It's pretty fucking adorable, though he'd kick my ass if I ever said that out loud.

He is clutching the remote to his chest as he continues to sleep silently. He never snores, thank Christ. The walls here are paper thin and I can't handle sounds when I'm trying to get some shut eye.

I gently pry the remote away from him and turn the television off, while debating on whether I should wake him up or let him spend the night on the sofa.

I shrug it off, just leaving him there.

He'd probably be pissed off at me if I woke him up now, anyway.

* * *

Later in the night, I walk into the bar only to find Kyle sitting up at the front, drink in hand, talking to Stan. Never thought I'd see him in a bar.

Stan is frowning and Kyle looking like he had a few glasses too many. As I approach them, I can hear Kyle slurring his words as he waves his hands around.

What an unfamiliar sight…

"Yo, what the fuck is going on?" I ask.

"Kenny," Stan greets, looking strangely guilty.

"Stan…" I say, nodding towards Kyle questioningly. "What's going on?" I repeat my question.

"Kyle, uh," he pauses, "drank too much… I'm sure you understand what that's like." His tone is somewhat disdainful.

I raise an eyebrow, ignoring the comment. "Why did he do that?"

Kyle is usually so careful. He never used to drink. I mean, sure, we got drunk a few times when we were kids, but it was never something he was into. I remember he once passed out and Eric wrote "I luv cockz" on his left cheek and drew a dick with jizz traveling towards his mouth on the right cheek. He took a picture with his phone and showed it to all the guys at school and it was safe to say that Kyle never drank after that.

Stan doesn't answer me question. Instead, he just says, "Can you take him home?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Sure…" Guess I won't be having a drink tonight. Probably for the best anyway.

"I dun' wanna go home," Kyle slurs, "I can't go home like this… Mom'd kill me."

"But you're twenty-five…"

"You know how she issss."

I feel myself frown. "You can come to my place then," I offer. "I'll take you home in the morning."

"Don't wanna."

"Kyle, come on," I say.

"Ugh," he groans, getting up out of the chair and stumbling backwards.

"Watch it there," I say, holding out my hands to offer him assistance.

"I can do it!" he yells, pushing me away.

Me and Stan share a brief glance. It would be funny if it wasn't so damn sad.

"Let him sleep off the hangover that's sure to come," Stan says, "If he passes out make sure you keep an eye on him. Don't let him drown in his own puke. Unlike you, he won't be coming back if that happens."

I chuckle. "I know, Stan," I say, "I've been through this with Craig a fuck-load of times when we were kids. You know, you should start refusing customers when they've had too much to drink."

If he did that, I know I would have been able to avoid many past confrontations. However, I can't blame Stan for all that shit. It is my fault. I should have the self-control to be able to stop when I know I should.

"Yeah," Stan mumbles, looking somewhat angry at himself. Ah, well. It's not Stan's fault. He just wants to avoid starting fights of his own with customers.

In a way, Kyle is a bit like Craig, but only now am I starting to really see it. They both have some of the bad things in common.

"Come on, Kyle," I say, wrapping an arm around his waist and steering him towards the door. "See you, Stan," I call before we leave the bar.

"Leggo a' me, I can do it, Kenny," he says again once we get outside, squirming in my hold.

"Kyle, man, just shut the fuck up and let me help you."

"Ugh…" he groans. "I feel dizzy…"

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" I ask, still helping him walk. "What if you pass out and I wrote 'I luv cockz' on your face like Eric did that one time."

"I dun care…" he mumbles. "And 'sides... you wouldn't do that."

"Kyle, what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Drinking like this…"

"Kenny, sorry," he states slowly, with more careful pronunciation, "but you don't know me anymore."

"What're you running from?" I ask.

"What?"

"You're running from something, right? That's why you're moving back here so suddenly. That's why you're drinking yourself sick."

"Shut the fuck up," he snaps, "Stop acting like y'know everything about everything when you really don't know shit!"

Ouch.

Well, that stung.

I guess it is something I'm guilty of… but I'm trying to work on it.

"Okay," I say, unsure of how else to reply.

His expression doesn't soften and the walk back to my place is stressful.

"Try not to be loud," I say as I unlock the door, "Craig might be asleep."

Kyle makes some noncommittal sound before following me inside. "Give me your phone and I'll text Ike for you, let him know you're at my place."

Kyle wordlessly tosses the phone to me before wandering towards the kitchen.

I open his phone, trying to refrain from going through his messages and photos.

I click Ike's name, only to see that Kyle has a few unread messages from him.

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _Kyle, where are you?_

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _I told mom and dad you were out with Stan. _

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _Text me when you can._

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _Seriously, where are you?_

Poor guy sounds worried.

Ah, I find it funny – him and Kyle both text in a similar way. Perfect spelling and all that shit.

YOU: _hey its kenny kyles at my place for the ngiht_

A mere twenty seconds later, the phone vibrates and I get a reply.

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _Is he okay?_

I roll my eyes. Paranoid much? I'm not going to do anything to him.

YOU: _hes fine just a bit too drunk to go home_

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _Is he asleep?_

YOU: _no hes in the kitchen getting water i think _

IKE BROFLOVSKI: _Okay. Thank you for taking care of him._

YOU: _no prob_

I close the messaging screen and click "photos" unable to stop myself. I know I really, really, really should not be doing this, but I'm too curious for my own good.

There's nothing excitingly scandalous – just a bunch of pictures of Kyle alongside people I've never seen before. I'm going to take a guess and say they're his New York friends. I should have known there would be no nudes on Kyle's phone. However, there are a few photos of him looking awfully close with someone. It must be the guy Stan mentioned.

He's in a lot of the photos.

There doesn't seem to be anything extraordinary about the guy. He looks exceptionally average. Brown hair, brown eyes… wall with a fairly sturdy build. Kyle looks happy with him. At least, from what I can see from the pictures.

The guy looks pretty damn possessive, then again, I guess I'd be a little possessive if I had Kyle, too. His arm is always wrapped around Kyle, whether Kyle in on his lap, kissing him, or just standing alongside him.

I let out a sigh as I continue to scroll through the images.

"Having fun?" Kyle asks from the doorway in the kitchen.

"Er…" I glance up, smiling sheepishly at him, closing the cell phone folder. "Sorry…"

He shrugs. "I'm not mad. I don't care if you're looking through my personal shit."

"When you say it like that, it sounds like you should be mad."

"Well, I'm not."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Were you looking at photos?"

"Yeah."

"Find anything interesting?"

"Who's the guy in the photos?"

"Which one?" he asks.

"You know which one."

Kyle lets out a sigh. "Just someone I used to know."

"Did you date him?"

"I did," he frowns slightly, closing his eyes. It was probably a bad break up.

"Did he dump you or something?"

Kyle shakes his head.

"You dumped him?"

He shakes his head again.

So, they're still together? Long distance?

"Then... you're still together?" I ask.

"No."

I tilt my head to the side, somewhat confused.

Kyle opens his eyes and gives me a strange look.

"What happened with him?"

"Not really in the mood to talk."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Why?"

Kyle lets out an irritated sigh. "Because he's fucking dead," he snaps. "There, happy?"

I feel my jaw drop and he lets out a sharp laugh that sounds like a fucking sob.

"You should see your face."

"I'm sorry..." I whisper hoarsely. I'm surprised, but I still want to press the issue further.

He shrugs, and a rare, awkward silence takes over. I feel like he's trying hard to feign apathy.

"How is your head?" I ask, deciding now would be the right time to change the subject. It's probably not cool of me to push for secrets when he's drunk. "Is it starting to hurt yet?"

"No," he says. "I drank some water. I shouldn't be too hung over."

"That's good…" I mumble.

He suddenly shuts his eyes, stifling a yawn with the back of his hands.

"Tired?" I ask.

"Clearly."

"Well… you can sleep in my room or on the sofa."

"The sofa is fine."

"I'll get you a blanket," I say, walking to the linen closet.

When I return to the living room, Kyle is already lying down.

"Here," I hand him the blanket.

"Thanks," he takes it.

"If you need anything, just come into my room. Craig's is the first door, mine's second."

"Mhm," he mumbles sleepily.

I turn down the hallway, walking into my bedroom.

What a fuckin' night.

* * *

The next day, Kyle wakes up around 3:00 PM. When he is conscious, he is his typical self – apologizing and insisting he never sleeps in this late. Then again, it's okay. He went to bed quite late last night, thanks to his little adventure at the bar.

I tell him it's fine and there's one of those polite smiles on his face as he thanks for letting him spend the night here.

"Yeah, no problem, dude," I shrug. "Need a drive home?"

"That would be great, actually," he says.

"Cool," I nod. "Craig's off today, so we can probably use his car."

"All right," Kyle smiles as he slips his shoes on.

And as if he knew we were talking about him, Craig walks out of his room a split second later.

"'Morning, sunshine," I say to him.

"No." He looks groggy, and sounds even groggier.

Craig always sleeps in late on his days off.

"Hi, Craig," Kyle greets him.

"Hi," Craig mumbles back.

"Can we borrow your car?" I ask.

Craig nods, walking off into the kitchen.

"He's grumpy when he first wakes up," I say to Kyle as I grab his car keys off the ledge near the front door.

"I can tell," he chuckles as we walk into the sunlight.

"So, how hung over are you?" I ask.

"I'm not really," he says.

"How?" I wonder in amazement, stepping into the driver's seat as Kyle sits in the passenger.

"You just stay hydrated and don't drink on an empty stomach, Kenny," he laughs. "It's not rocket science."

"Yeah, but you were pretty smashed," I laugh along with him, pulling out of the driveway.

"I know…" he frowns, staring forward. "Sorry."

"It's cool."

"I'm not usually like that."

"It's cool," I say again. "You have stuff going on, it's okay. We all have nights like that."

"I suppose."

Shit, at least I found Kyle when I did and he didn't go home with the first person to offer. Then again, I doubt Stan would have let anything bad happen.

A few minutes later, we pull into Kyle's driveway.

"Thanks," Kyle says. "Want to come in for a bit?"

"Sure," I shrug.

Craig doesn't need his car today, so it'll be fine.

* * *

"I'd offer to make you something to eat as a thank you for last night, but if it's all right, I'd like to shower first," Kyle says once we're inside.

"That's fine," I say, "I ate before you woke up, so I'm good for now."

"All right," he smiles. "You can sit around down here and watch television if you'd like – or sit around in my room and read."

"Cool," I say, following him upstairs and into his room.

As we walk inside, I scan the books on his many shelves. "What's good?" I ask.

"_In search of April Raintree_."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, you finished it?" I ask.

"I did."

"Didja end up cryin'?"

He snorts. "I may have gotten a little teary."

"Heh… Well, all right. I'll try reading it," I say, picking the novel up from its place on the shelf and settling with it on the bed.

He nods, before leaving the room.

As soon as he's gone, I toss the book aside and begin to wander around his room.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I stop going through all of his shit? Curiosity killed the cat, right? My own curiosity has killed me in the past. Maybe next time Kyle catches me, he won't be as forgiving. Not saying he's going to kill me… but he has a pretty intense temper when he's truly angry.

However, knowing that still doesn't stop me from rummaging through his drawers.

Nothin' interesting. Just a lot of boring looking papers. Jeez, there isn't even a box of condoms hidden away.

I shrug it off, sitting back on the bed and opening to the first page of the novel.

* * *

I don't get very far and soon, Kyle walks in with a towel covering as much of his body as it can.

I guess I spent too much time looking through his things. Man, I'm a dick.

"Can you turn around?" he asks, sounding thoroughly uncomfortable. "I forgot to bring a change of clothing in with me."

"Kyle –" I say, unable to tear my gaze away from his mid-section, where there seems to be a few scars.

"Don't, Kenny," he sternly warns me not to ask the question he knows is on my mind.

I raise an eyebrow. "Sure…" I quietly relent, turning myself around and continuing to read. Now, none of the words will sink in and I just want to know the story behind those marks. I wonder if he created them. They look jagged and rough and desperately crooked. The thought of Kyle alone doing a thing like that to himself is highly unsettling. It doesn't suit him and somehow, I can't picture it happening at all, so maybe they weren't self inflicted.

What the fuck is going on with him?

"Okay," he says a few moments later. "You can turn back around now."

As I do, I see that he's dressed the way he typically is – fitted, beige khaki pants and an argyle sweater. Kyle looks like Kyle.

"You all right?" I ask.

"I'm fine," he says. "Come downstairs, I'll make you something to eat."

* * *

The rest of the evening continues smoothly. Kyle made lunch, and Ike joined us. Per usual, Sheila and Gerald were gone out. I think Kyle and Ike find it relieving. I know I would.

I continued to loiter around the house with Kyle and Ike, not doing anything particularly stimulating, but it was fun nonetheless.

When I arrive back home, Tweek is over. He's sitting with Craig in front of the television, both of them sharing a blanket and looking cuddly.

"Ain't you guys the cutest," I snicker.

"Shut up," Craig says automatically.

"_Requiem for a Dream_?" I ask, glancing at the movie playing.

"Yup," he mumbles.

"Nice choice. So, did you guys already fuck?" I ask. "Because if not, I'm outta here."

"Yeah," Craig says, and Tweek groans at the bluntness.

Ahahahaha. HA.

"Well, I'll be in my room then," I say before walking down the hallway.


	8. Strong

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**With all school is handing me, I'm still trying to remember to update regularly haha. The other day I rented a white screen and took photos of some men I know modeling women's clothing for a gender project. It was interesting. One of the few projects I had fun with. **

* * *

I don't see Kyle for the following days, but soon enough I'm back in his room.

"You hanging out with Stan much?" I ask, wondering if I might see Stan's super-best-friend more than he does these days.

"Yes," Kyle says, "but Stan works most nights."

"Is he working tonight?" I ask, glancing at the clock. It's 8:30 PM and growing dark.

"Yeah."

"We should all meet up soon. You, Eric, Stan, and me."

He smiles, "That would be really nice."

"Yeah, it would. It'd be like old times."

Eric and Kyle will probably start fighting again – I mean their full-blown arguments. Stan and Kyle will probably grow close again, too. I think that would be nice, even if I end up being the odd one out like I used to be. I never minded it. Somehow, I miss it. I miss the way it was when we were little kids. I guess this is why I want it to work so badly now. I want to feel that nostalgia. It'd be really damn satisfying, especially with everything that's been happening. Growing up sucks ass.

"What're you thinking about?" Kyle asks.

"You," I say.

"Me?" he chuckles.

I nod, "I'm just really glad you're back."

He smiles, "So am I. I wish I came back sooner, to be honest."

"New York wasn't all it was cracked up to be, huh?"

"You could say that," he says, sounding somewhat solemn.

I tilt my head to the side. "You know how I looked through your phone the other night when you were drunk?"

"Yes."

"You looked happy in the photos."

"I guess I was, at first. New York was still new and exciting. I met interesting people."

"The guy who was in a lot of those photos with you –"

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Why –"

"Because," he cuts in.

"But why?"

"Because I fucking said so!" Kyle snaps.

Jesus Christ.

I hold up my hands, surrendering.

He sandwiches his head between his legs, pulling on his hair like he's about to rip it out.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yes," he grits.

Even though he's not looking at me, I can tell he's crying. I can hear it in his strained voice.

I really need to learn a little thing called tact…

"Sorry, Kyle," I say, and suddenly he starts sobbing. "Kyle," I say again, trying to get him to sit up.

"Don't!" he yells angrily.

Seconds later, Ike barges into the room, shooting me an irritated look. "Leave the room, please," he commands, sounding tired at the same time.

I don't fuckin' hesitate.

I hear Kyle shouting at Ike as I wander up and down the hallway. I feel guilty, even though I don't know what I did.

I walk into the bathroom to relieve myself – that's when I spot a prescription bottle on the counter.

I pick it up after washing my hands and I read the label, searching for a name –

KYLE BROFLOVSKI

Then further down –

ZOLOFT 100 MG TABLETS

QTY: 60

What the fuck?

Hmph… so that's why he didn't want me spying around. He must have forgot to put it away.

Feeling somewhat angry, I grab the pill bottle and march back into Kyle's bedroom where he's sitting with his head in his hands. Ike is sitting next to him, silent.

"_I'm not depressed_," I quote him in a shaky voice, "_but I appreciate your concern_… This is Zoloft, right?" I hold up the plastic bottle. "An SSIR?"

"SSRI, retard," he corrects, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor."

"Yeah, that."

Kyle turns to Ike. "Go, I'm fine."

"You sure?" the little Canadian asks.

Kyle nods.

"I'm not depressed," he says after Ike steps out. "They aren't only used for depression"

"Well, clearly something is wrong…" I frown.

He smiles, looking like he is guilty of something, "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," I whisper, "You don't have to be sorry."

"You're angry."

I let out a sigh, "I have no right to be but I can't help it. I wish you trusted me enough to tell me."

"Apart from my immediate family, no one knows I'm taking those," he says, "Not even Stan."

"Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you sad?" I ask, "I mean, there's usually a reason, right?"

"Sometimes, no."

"But in your case, I'm betting there is…"

He smiles again, looking thoroughly miserable. "Yeah, there's a reason."

"Do I get to know?"

"I don't want to share," he says in an almost mechanical voice, a voice that makes me positive that it is something really bad.

"You said you wanted to return here to teach, right? To try something new and maybe make a difference… Was that a lie?"

"Not quite."

"But it's just not the whole truth?"

"Maybe," he says distantly.

"Kyle… it might be good to talk about whatever it is," I reason.

"I'm dealing," he whispers.

"It doesn't seem like you are," I say, "You're not dealing, you're dwelling."

Kyle wrinkles his nose.

"What is it?" I ask.

"You can be sad without having depression. I'm not depressed," he says again, "It just helps me."

"With what?"

"Anxiety, I suppose," he says vaguely.

PTSD…?

I feel my eyebrows draw together, "Kyle…"

"Hey… want to go for a walk?" he offers suddenly.

"Er, sure," I say.

Kyle stands up and grabs his jacket from his closet, putting it on. I grab mine from its place slung over his chair and do the same.

It's cool outside. It's also dark by now, with the streets lit up only by the dim night lamps.

I don't push him to talk as we reach the end of his driveway. I don't push him to talk as we turn onto the sidewalk. I don't push him to talk as we walk past Stark's pond. I don't push him to talk after we arrive at the park, or after he sits down in one of the swings.

For what feels like a long time, there is just the sound of the old, creaking swing set. I just stand here, watching him move back and forth.

He lets out an audible breath. "I didn't recognize the signs," he says shakily, "It's often said that there are signs… I didn't see them. Or, perhaps, I just ignored them. No one ever gave me that kind of attention before. I wasn't use to being wanted… And then I thought that maybe… the good only came with the bad."

"What do you mean?" I ask, sitting on the swing next to his.

"I was seeing someone," he states, staring ahead at what looks like nothing in particular.

"Seeing someone?" I ask.

"That man," he specifies, tightening his grip of the cold, rusted chains.

"The one from the pictures…"

The one that died.

"Yeah," his voice cracks and he clears his throat before continuing. "I met him when I was twenty-three. We began dating shortly after, so last year I thought it would be okay to move in with him."

I nod my head.

"We didn't have the healthiest relationship," he admits, still not looking at me. "He'd always been a little sick, but unlike most people it made him little less human. He drank often and I yelled at him a lot. He'd get black-out drunk and he'd turn into something…" he trails off, glassy-eyed as he clears his throat.

"Kyle?" I ask hesitantly.

He shakes his head, not wanting me to speak until he's finished. "One morning I woke up to someone calling my name. When I opened my eyes I was on the floor, sore and naked. I was angry at myself. I was angry I let it go that far, and ashamed that that was how it was probably going to end. It wasn't the first time I woke in that position, but I was always awake before him so I cleaned up before he even opened his eyes. He never knew. That morning was different. I looked over and saw him staring at me. He looked concerned, upset. 'Kyle, did I do this?' he asked. He looked so close to tears. He was himself again… he was… but I was too upset. He tried to help me up but I just begged for him to stop. I think that gave him his answer. Yeah, he did it. He never knew what he had been doing every time he laughed about not remembering things when he drank… But he knew right then what he had done and it wasn't funny anymore."

"Why did you hide it?" I ask quietly, as if raising my voice might shatter the very air.

"I didn't want anyone to know," Kyle says, finally turning to face me. "I mean, would you?"

"No," I whisper.

He looks away again, down at his feet. "It was me realizing how weak in mind I truly am."

"You're not weak, Kyle…"

"Then why did I stay?" he asks.

But I don't have the answer.

He shakes his head before continuing the horror story. "I went and took a shower, leaving him alone with his guilt… But the more I thought about it, the more I thought about his expression… I started to feel guilty myself. I actually felt sympathetic toward him," he lets out a brutal sounding laugh, "Pathetic isn't it, to feel that way about someone who… Yet… still, I can't help it."

I don't say anything. I feel like if I try, I'll just choke.

"Then I heard it," he says in an eerily calm voice and I can tell how damn hard he's trying to suppress himself. "As soon as I heard it I knew what happened. There was nothing to piece together. I just finished rinsing my hair when I heard the gunshot. We were the only two people in the house. I didn't even bother turning the taps off before running straight out of the bathroom. I started screaming when I saw it. I fell to my knees and hunched over and just screamed. I don't know for how long. I kept screaming even after the neighbor walked in and found me. He put a blanket over me and tried to talk to me. He put his hand on me and tried to help me, but I pushed him away. I kept screaming after he called the cops. I kept screaming after the two men in blue showed up. I felt like I was going fucking crazy, like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I didn't think it would hurt as much as it did, but I guess in a sick and sad sort of way, I did love him… And maybe that's why I always stayed."

I still don't say anything. I can't.

"Even though he's gone, I still love him," he finishes.

I don't ask for the man's name. I don't think Kyle needs to say it. I want to reach over and hold him, but I don't think he needs that either.

I'm silent for a long time. I'm afraid that if I do I'll say the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry," Kyle cuts in.

I feel my eyebrows draw together. "Why?" I ask weakly, "You have nothing to be sorry about, Kyle. Nothing."

"I probably freaked you out."

"No, Kyle… No. Never."

He simply nods his head, as if he doesn't quite believe me.

"Kyle," I say, "Kyle, look at me."

He doesn't.

"You can cry. It's okay to cry… You've been holding a lot of things in, haven't you? Maybe it would be best if you just let it out. You might feel better."

"No," he says.

"Just –"

"Stop," Kyle cuts me off, standing up. "Stop making it sound so fucking easy! It's not easy!"

"I'm not saying it is…" I try and reason.

"Yes you are! You're trivializing it!"

"No –"

"You don't just get _better_ when something so fucking wrong happens! THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO TO MAKE IT BETTER!" he screams, letting out a soft sob.

"Kyle…"

"He's dead," he cries, "he's dead and it's my fault!"

I just stand there watching him for what feels like hours.

I feel sick.

I feel like throwing up.

I want to help him, but I know I can't.

What do I do?

"Kyle?" I say somewhat helplessly.

"I'm going home," he suddenly mumbles in a mechanic tone, briskly wiping his cheeks.

"Kyle…"

"I don't want to see you anymore tonight," he says.

I take a step forward, but he holds up his hands to stop me.

"Don't," he warns, sounding shrill.

I frown, feeling completely defeated.

"T-tell me about some of the good things," I say quietly, I'm not good at this sort of shit… but it might be good for Kyle to remember some of the good and not just all of the bad, especially since he still has conflicting thoughts towards the man. Hell, I really don't know what to say or do. I'm probably doing everything wrong, but I want him to know that I don't think any different of him.

"Why?" he narrows his eyes at me.

"Because… I'd like to know."

"He could be gentle," Kyle starts, expression relaxing. "He usually was… My friends hated him, I never knew why. They didn't know him like I did. They only saw the stupid front he wore. I saw… I saw the other parts of him. I mean, I was always… really uncomfortable doing sexual things. He was my first… And I know, twenty-three might sound fairly old in comparison to a lot of people but… In some ways, I still think I wasn't ready yet."

I simply nod. Who the hell am I to tell Kyle how fucking wrong I think it is?

I'm not surprised Kyle kept his virginity for that long, to be honest. He always put value on things like that. So did Stan, but then again, he is so in love with Wendy I don't think he had any doubts they would be together forever.

Kyle laughs quietly, "I'd have his fucking cum dripping down my chin and he'd be like, 'Babe, you're so beautiful.' I'd just be there thinking, 'What the fuck are you looking at?' And I mean, sure, maybe to him I was perfect right then. I think a lot of people are like that – they see what they want to see in moments like those. As long as they're getting what they want… No one looks good with a dick in their mouth."

I smile sympathetically – the more Kyle talks about this man, the more I feel like I have something in common with him. I feel like I'd end up treating Kyle like shit, too. That's why it would probably be a good idea for me to keep away, buuut I can't.

"He was always a little sensitive," Kyle continues as if he's recalling a fond memory, though I know that's probably not the case. "I mean… he'd either act like an ass, or be a really decent guy… There was never an in between. Though, I don't know what an in between would have been like. He really didn't know what he was doing to me."

I want to yell at Kyle. To shake some sense into him and say that clearly the man had no self-respect, so he insisted on taking Kyle's. That isn't a loving relationship. That isn't a healthy relationship.

I feel really bad, and the way he keeps trying to justify this man's actions is really getting to me…

He's suddenly talking really quietly and I can tell it's because he's trying not to cry again and it makes me feel bad even though I didn't do anything. But maybe that's why, it's because I'm not doing anything. I can't do anything. I can't fix this.

"What's going on over here?"

Ah, fuck me.

I turn around and see that idiot Barbrady standing there pointing his flashlight on me and Kyle.

"Nothing," I say. "He's… just a little sick."

"Does he need a drive home?" Barbrady offers.

"Kyle?" I ask.

He shakes his curly head and says, "No, I'm fine."

"All righty," Barbrady says in that dumb tone before walking back to his parked cop car.

I look back over at Kyle again. He has his arms wrapped around his abdomen. "You know," he begins airily, "If he was still alive, I think I'd still be with him."

"Do you wish he was?"

"Is it bad if I say yes?"

"I don't know, Kyle," I say, though I want to tell him how fucked up I think it is. However, I doubt that's what he needs to hear right now. "He hurt you bad, right?"

"Yeah, but sometimes I think I deserved it," Kyle reasons with himself. "Sometimes I was just as bad as he was."

"Somehow I doubt that…"

"You weren't there. You can't say anything," he insists.

"Okay, sorry…" I reply. "Token's wife is a therapist, you know. Remember Nichole? Maybe if you talk to her –"

"Screw that," Kyle says, "I don't want all my childhood friend to see how fucked up I am while they are doing so much better."

"Kyle, you're not fucked up…"

He scoffs. "You say that, yet I can tell you think the opposite."

"Kyle –"

"It's because you don't fucking understand!" he shouts.

"Yeah," I say, "You're right. I don't understand and I'm not going to pretend I do. It doesn't make sense to me. Why would you still care a lot for a guy who did so much shit to you? Why would you still want to justify his actions? I don't fucking understand it because I've never experienced it."

He doesn't say anything. He turns away and begins walking, exiting the park and walking along the sidewalk. I follow steps behind him. He's quiet, but I hear him sniffing.

Christ, I don't know what to do here…

"If you could forget about it all, would you?" I ask.

I look up and watch the back of his head. "It hurts…" he says, "but I wouldn't want to forget."

"Why?"

"Because… I don't want to run away from things. I want to be able to face them."

I feel myself smile. "See, Kyle?" I say.

"See what?" he stops and turns around to face me.

"You're strong."

I feel like I've had this conversation with Craig before. I don't know. Clearly I'm no good at helping people. Maybe sometimes there's nothing you can do.

Kyle snorts, sounding like he doesn't quite believe it. "I think it is sad, all those kids who barely lived already crying for death. No matter how rough my life gets, I never want to be there. I'm still so young, and there is still so much I want to experience. I didn't think I'd be able to leave that place. I thought I'd just end up staying there, trying hard not to contemplate the past… or maybe dwelling in it, but no. I left. I think that was the first step."

"Yeah…" I agree. "Do you want to talk about it some more?"

"You know, sometimes, talking about your problems too much makes them worse," he says, "you're not just letting it out, you're also dwelling on it and reliving it. You aren't supposed to do that. You're supposed to cope and heal and move on."

"Oh."

We start walking again and I accompany him until we're at the end of his driveway. He lifts up his hand and waves. "Thanks," he murmurs.

"Sure."

And I keep walking.


	9. Here

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thank you for the nice reviews ~ **

* * *

I leave Kyle for the next few days, unsure of what to do, but trust me when I say it's all I've been thinking about. It's become a bit of a fixation.

I am now on my way to Kyle's, unannounced. It's sort of late for visiting, but I don't care. I doubt he will care either.

I've been reading a lot, trying to take note of what I should and shouldn't say and do…

I'm worried I'll act stupid and it will trigger something like I did last time.

Hell, it's no secret that I can be pretty insensitive. It's not like I try to be an ass, it just kind of happens.

"Did you know?" I ask Ike as soon as be opens the door.

"Know what?" he asks, though I know he's just playing dumb. He settles on the sofa as I follow him in to the living room.

"Did you know Kyle was…" I trail off. I can't even say the fucking words.

"Yeah…" Ike admits, "I had an idea… I mean… I've studied this stuff extensively in school. Victimology. I've read articles. I've read Kyle's articles. When you know what to look for, you can pin-point these behaviours. I had suspicions."

"Oh."

"He woke up in a panic a few nights after he got home. He was doing a good job hiding everything until then. Mom was freaking out. You know how she is – so you know she clearly didn't handle in right. She was loud. I mean, she wasn't angry, but she's just loud in general and it only set Kyle off even worse since he was feeling upset already. I made Dad take her downstairs and I spoke to Kyle. When mom asked, I just told her that one of Kyle's friends in New York died and that he saw it happen. I didn't tell her that her son was abused. Maybe she deserves to know… but I think it's best she doesn't ever find out."

I nod my head, frowning. "I wish I could kill him."

"Who?"

"The guy who did it."

Ike gives me a piteous smile. "He's already dead, Kenny."

"I know," I say tersely. "I wish I could've done it."

"Kyle wouldn't have forgiven you. He would only have hated you."

"I don't get that…"

"Relationships are complicated – especially abusive ones. Often, people don't understand that they're being abused, and if they do, then they'll make up excuses. They'll may have mixed feelings. They'll say they deserved it and they'll experience learned helplessness… Everyone deals with it differently. Kyle, in particular, doesn't want to believe he is a victim of abuse, so instead, he continues to justify it and mourn the death of the man who beat and raped him. Deep down, I think he knows what happened was so, so, so wrong."

I cringe, trying not to let my mind create horrific images in my head. "It's sad… Not in a pathetic way, it's just sad… in a sad way, you know?"

"I know," he agrees. "What will you do now?"

I let out a slow sigh. "I don't know what to do."

"Just be… patient."

"I'm scared to touch him now."

"Don't be scared," Ike says. "He's not going to break, so don't treat him as such. He'll only get angry if you do that. He's strong, and he is dealing in the best way he knows how. For now, just give him the space he needs, but don't distance yourself to where he can't reach you when he wants you."

I nod solemnly. "He is more upset about the fact that this guy is dead than about what the guy did to him… I don't understand that at all."

"It makes sense."

"How?" I ask. I don't fucking get it at all. When I've been wronged, all I can think about is revenge. Whether or not I get it is irrelevant, but still.

"You've never been in an abusive relationship. You may have had some bad relationships; relationships where you and your partners were both in the wrong, but you've never been rendered submissive. You've never been scared and in love at the same time."

"Yeah," I frown. And I'm fucking glad about that. It sounds like the worst kind of trap. "Is Kyle upstairs?"

"He is… I think he's having a drink."

I crinkle my nose. "Why?"

"Because he's upset, I suppose. Self-medicating is –"

"Yeah, yeah," I wave him off as I head up the stairs.

When I enter Kyle's room, I see him in a pair of pajamas, sitting on his bed with a bottle of amber rum in his hand.

"Kyle?" I ask, stepping inside.

"Oh, hi," he says monotonously.

"What are you doing?"

"Just having a drink," he says, lifting the bottle towards me and twirling its contents around.

"Oh… well, are you sure you should be doing that?"

"I can do whatever the fuck I please," he says, putting the lid back on the bottle and setting it on his night stand. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"This is the way I always look," he says tersely, becoming visibly irritated with me.

"You look drunk."

"Don't be so damn dramatic. I doubt I look drunk at all! I can still speak coherently."

"That may be, but I can still tell you aren't yourself because you're being a dick."

His lower lip trembles. "Shut up," he whispers.

"No."

"I hate you sometimes," his voice cracks.

"That's okay," I say. "I don't hate you."

"Please don't do this now!" he cries, "I can't deal with you when I'm like this!"

"Kyle," I say his name, approaching him.

"All you do is hurt me!" he shouts, kicking his feet into my stomach.

"Ow, fuck!" I grunt, grabbing his feet before he can kick me again.

"Let go of me," he demands.

"Kyle, you're drunk," I say.

He laughs loudly. "You know that old saying… Drunken words are sober thoughts."

"Come on, you don't really believe that do you?"

I know he doesn't because I tried to pull that card on him a little while back and he shut me down.

He sighs, seeming to calm down significantly. "No, I don't," he admits, "In _most_ cases, alcohol can give you confidence, but in the end it can also screw with your thought process."

I let go of him, and he sits up, collecting himself.

"Do I really hurt you?" I ask.

"No…" he admits, "you just make me think about things I don't want to think about."

"Sorry for that," I say. "I'll try to be careful."

He lies down on his side, looking right at me.

"You want to fuck me, right?"

"Kyle –"

"Why don't you do it?"

I frown. "Because I want you to want it, too…"

"Maybe I do."

I shake my head. "I know you don't. I wouldn't do that to you."

He smiles. It's a strange smile that looks like it would be more suited to Eric's expression. "How cute," he murmurs. "So you really do have feelings for me."

"Yeah, I do."

"Sorry it's not mutual."

I shrug. It kind of hurts to hear, but now isn't the time for that. "It's fine, Kyle."

He shuts his eyes, and I just stand here watching him.

He's beautiful for a man. In our younger years, when given the opportunity, I would just stare at him as he slept, when he was vulnerable. Nasty thoughts invaded my mind, but I managed to force them away each time because, yeah I'm shit, but I'm not that kind of shit. At least, I hope I'm not.

"Hey Kyle?" I ask.

"Hm?" he mumbles. He opens his eyes and rolls onto his back, mindlessly staring up at the ceiling.

"Does alcohol make less attractive people seem more attractive, or is that just a myth?"

Kyle snorts, "Facial symmetry has a lot to do with whether or not a person is considered to be attractive. Alcohol messes around with symmetry, so I suppose there could be some truth to it. Why?"

I shrug. "I can remember when we were younger… Clyde and the other guys would go on about their weekends. They'd be saying things like 'Oh, she was a 7/10 but when I sobered up she was 4/10,' and shit like that."

Kyle laughs and shakes his head. "That's… really terrible."

"I know," I snort.

"Sorry for kicking you."

"It's fine. I probably did deserve it."

"Probably not."

Nah, I think I probably did, but I'm not going to argue with him.

"You can stay here for the night, if you'd like," he offers.

"Yeah, all right, thanks," I say, turning away to take the guest room.

"No," he pauses.

"Hm?" I turn around.

"I mean… here… right _here."_

"Really?"

"You always try to comfort me," he says. "It doesn't always work, but I can tell you do try."

"Kyle, you don't owe me anything… I help because I want to. I like it when you're happy."

"I know that… and… that's why I'm going to trust you."

I give a nod, slipping my jacket and hoodie off before lying next to Kyle.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah."

We spent the next hour talking about things that don't matter – nothing heavy – until Kyle stops answering.

I turn to my side and watch his sleeping face for a while until I begin to feel myself drift off, too.

* * *

I wake up around 3 AM, when Kyle starts mumbling in his sleep.

"Kyle?" I sit up, unsure if I should shake him awake or what. "Kyle," I repeat, slightly louder this time.

"No…" he whispers, opening his eyes.

"Hey…"

"Kenny?"

"Yeah, it's just me."

"Oh," he sits up groggily, "sorry."

"Stop apologizing, dude."

"Sorry," he snickers.

I roll my eyes in good humor. "So, bad dream?"

"Yes."

"You really should try seeing a doctor…" I suggest carefully.

He shakes his head. "No, I don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"I want to deal with this myself."

"You will; you just might need a little guidance…"

"No."

Aaand this is where I shut up.

* * *

But nonetheless, the following morning, I call up an old school friend to meet me at Harbucks.

"Hey, Nichole," I say, taking a seat across from her at the cafe.

"Hey, Kenny," she replies, sipping on what looks like a latte. "Long time no see!"

"Really though," I chuckle.

"I'm sorry I didn't order you anything, I just wasn't sure whether you drank coffee."

"Oh, that's fine! I won't take up too much of your time."

"Take up as much of it as you need!"

"Heh, I'd probably be down for a game of catch up, but I have work after."

"Shame," she says, "you should ring me and Token up one of these days and we'll get together!"

"That sounds nice," I grin.

"So, where are you working at these days?"

"Auto shop," I say, not mentioning that I actually get paid under the table and definitely not mentioning my little side job.

"That's nice. You always did love cars."

"Yeah, I enjoy it," I smile.

She smiles back. "So, what's up?"

"Well…" I pause. I run a hand through my hair, unsure of how to bring it up. "I don't know where to start," I admit.

She frowns. "Is everything okay?"

"Not really… I'm fine, but I have a friend who is going through some stuff."

She nods, urging me to continue.

"I think he'd kill me if I knew I was here, seeking out help for him, but I mean… I honestly don't know what the fuck to do anymore. I don't know how to act. I don't know if my actions are going to end up hurting him or helping him…"

I glance around the cafe, taking in many familiar faces.

"Can we leave?" I ask, still paranoid some of these people may overhear something.

"Sure," she says, picking up her latte as we exit Harbucks.

"It's Kyle," I admit once we're outside.

"Kyle Broflovski?"

I nod.

"Gosh, I haven't heard of him in such a long, long time."

"He just moved back here."

"Where was he?"

"New York."

"Wow!"

"Yeah," I mumble.

"Is he all right?"

"Hardly," I frown.

"You don't have to tell me what happened," she says, understandingly. "A long time ago, I told him I'd be here if he ever wanted to talk… Though the situation was a bit false back then, that offer still holds. Let him know I'm here, in the office and out of the office."

"I will. Thanks, Nichole," I say. "Tell Token I said hi. I'll call you guys soon."

"Okay, sounds good!" she waves and we part ways.

As I turn away, crossing the street and turning a corner I hear someone call my name –

"Ken?"

I spin around, spotting Tammy walking out of a shop, holding hands with a child.

"Oh, hey," I greet awkwardly.

"How are you?" she asks.

"All right," I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets. "How 'bout you?"

"I'm very good," she smiles. "You haven't met Jamie yet, have you?"

"Jamie?"

She looks down at her kid, who holds up his little hand and waves at me.

I wave back, vaguely remembering when I was that small. It seems like so long ago. Hell, I guess it was.

"Jamie," she says, "this is Kenny McCormick."

"Hi," he says.

"Yo," I reply.

This is my first time seeing the kid, I've heard about him. Of course, we all have. Tammy's story was infamous in the halls of South Park high school. Everyone thought it was quite the scandal. I never paid much attention to the gossip. I just stuck up for her when I heard people talking shit.

"He looks just like you," I say to Tammy.

She smiles again. "Take care, Ken."

"Yeah… you, too," I mumble before heading to the auto shop.


	10. Beast

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Kenny is probably quite OOC in this chapter but shhh. **

* * *

Eric and me are at the pub getting drunk. I know it's a dumb idea, and I'll probably end up punching him in his fat, smug face, but I really need a fucking drink.

"Christ, Kinny. You sure are suckin' it back," he notes as I down my fourth rum and coke. "If you keep this up, you'll be hurling within the hour."

"I'm fuckin' stressed out," I slur, waving at Stan to make me another.

"Why?" he asks, taking a long chug of beer. "Actually, if this is romance issues, I don't wanna hear about your gay shit."

I snort. "Then let's not go there."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Tsk… now I'm curious."

"You better not punch me in the face this time," Stan says, setting another drink down in front of me. "It's your fault if you get sick. I told you to stop two drinks ago."

"I won't hit you," I laugh, taking a long sip.

Stan crosses his arms, "So why are you stressed out?"

"I shouldn't say," I mumble.

Stan raises an eyebrow. "What is it about?"

"Well… it's about Kyle."

"Kyle?" Stan frowns.

I nod.

"What did the Jew do?" Eric asks.

"I doubt he did anything, fat tits," Stan says, sticking up for his best pal.

"He didn't," I confirm, taking another sip.

"Then what is it?" Stan's eyebrows draw together.

"Ah… I shouldn't say…"

"Come on, dipshit," Eric says. "You have to say it since you brought it up in the first place. That's the unspoken rule."

"I guess so," I consider.

"So…?"

"He was assaulted," I say nonchalantly. Another sip. "By that guy he was dating."

I watch the look of horror take over Stan's expression. "What do you mean…?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Dude, don't tell lies like that!"

"Ain't a lie," I insist. "He told me himself."

"Oh, my fucking God," Stan gapes, pressing his hand to his forehead and looking like he's about to cry as he paces back and forth. "Why?" he asks. "Why would he tell you that and not me…?"

Another sip. "I don't fuckin' know. It was situational, I guess."

Eric grimaces, not saying anything. I don't know what's going through his head. Maybe he's feeling sympathetic. Maybe he's feeling like he can relate. He did, after all, have a bad experience when South Park was overrun with people from Jersey… Then again, maybe he's not thinking much at all. This _is_ Eric. Who knows for sure.

"Yeah, he's a mess," I say.

Another sip.

"Should we kill him?" Eric asks.

"Who?"

"The guy who did it…"

"That guy is already dead."

"I hope Kahl did it," Eric mumbles.

"Nope. Suicide."

"Well, Kahl's probably relieved."

"Quite the contrary," I say. "Dunno why, but he's all sad about it."

"God…" Stan mumbles tearfully.

"Tears aren't gonna make it better, retard," Eric snorts at Stan's sensitivity.

"I'm allowed to be upset for my best friend!" Stan snaps, reaching for Eric over the bar counter.

I let out a loud sigh as the two of them begin to argue. I down the rest of my drink before prying them apart and giving them both solid punches in the face.

Eric grunts, shooting me an angry look.

"Ow!" Stan cries, grabbing his nose. "You said you weren't going to punch me this time, asshole!"

I shrug.

We're all so fucking dysfunctional…

"Hell damn," he hisses. "You're lucky I'm not bleeding!"

"Yeah, yeah," I say dismissively. "I'm going home."

"You know, you shouldn't walk home alone when you're drunk. You'll get mugged again."

Oh, yeah. I had to tell them that fib when they asked about my bruised face a little while back. They never ask questions.

"And worst comes to worst, I'll die. Big whoop."

"Come on," Stan says. "I'll take you home after my shift."

"No," I say, flipping him off before leaving the bar.

When I go home, I'm going to drink some water and go to bed.

* * *

When I wake up the following morning, I am naked on my way to shower, dressed by the time I reached the kitchen and not even my hangover can distract me from last night's mistake. I wonder if Stan got to Kyle yet. Or maybe Eric.

I wonder how angry Kyle is going to be at me for talking about things that aren't my business.

… Hell, I really need to stop drinking.

Dad calls me around 5 PM, asking me to pick some shit up.

"Be there in a few," I say before hanging up and pocketing my cellphone.

"What's that about?" Craig asks.

"My dad," I tell him.

"Oh," Craig says distastefully, because he knows that a call from my dad really means.

I grab my coat and put on my boots before heading to my parent's place.

Ever since I was _mugged_, I've been thinking a lot about the hard stuff. People are willing to kill for that shit. I don't get why…

When I arrive to my childhood home, I just walk right in. First thing I see is Kevin leaning over the coffee table. He's snorting a line. Awesome.

"Kev," I say, "Where's dad?"

"Out in the back with mom," he says, wiping his nose. "They'll be in here in here in a few."

"Okay…" I say, sitting next to him on the sofa.

He sniffs, wiping his nose again.

"What is that shit?" I ask.

"Coke. Want?"

"No…"

"Come on, Kenny, live a little. Jesus Christ, you can't die, so you might as well experience it at least once."

"Where's Karen?" I ask. I haven't seen her in quite a while and I don't want her to see both her siblings snorting lines as a form of brotherly bonding.

"She moved out a little while ago."

"Good…" I mumble as Kevin divides the white powder into lines. "Where is she?"

"Her and the Tucker girl live in an apartment together."

"That's good…" I say, wondering why Craig never told me. Maybe he did, but I was drunk at the time to remember. Probably… but hell, I'm glad she got out of this shit hole.

I take a one dollar bill out of my wallet and here we go.

"Kenneth McCormick!"

Ah, shit…

I look up at the sound of my mom's voice.

"Fuck," I say, rubbing my nose.

"Kenneth McCormick," she repeats, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing you don't do."

I feel smug. She can't get angry at me for doing things her, dad and Kevin all do. This kind of thing is fuckin' family fun time at the McCormick house.

Nonetheless, she looks disappointed yet again.

"Honestly… don't fucking do that, Mom," I say angrily.

"Do what?"

"Act like you're so disappointed!" I shout. "You're not allowed to be! Especially not when Kevin does this shit in front of you every damn day. What the fuck makes me so different?"

She says nothing.

My dad hands me what I came for and I leave shortly after.

As I'm walking down the street, I hear someone say my name in a less than friendly voice –

"Kenny."

"Huh?" I spin around.

Oh, look. It's Kyle.

"Oh, hey, Kyle. What are you doing out?"

"I'm going to Stan's, not that it's important." He looks angry. "He called me earlier and told me about last night."

I guess we all know why he's so angry, not that he even needed to say it.

"Ah, yes. I told him and Eric what happened to you last night. I was drunk, my apologies, but I do think it's best if all your closest friends know."

"That is no fucking excuse!" he growls. "I… I fucking trusted you!" He takes a step closer, giving me a rough shove.

"Hey, now," I say, stumbling slightly. "Aren't you the one who says things can't be solved with violence."

"Some things can't, but I'm mad at you!" he shouts. "You… You betrayed me!"

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't sound sorry!" he shouts some more, looking like he's about to cry.

Well, what am I supposed to tell him now? That I'm high?

"Eric Cartman! You told Eric fucking Cartman!" Kyle continues, sniffling. "I thought… I thought…" he starts sobbing freely, looking ashamed at the same time.

"Yeah…" I mumble, unsure of where to go from here. "Sorry," I say again, though I know it doesn't mean a thing to him now.

"I hate you," he chokes out, moving past me.

"Kyle."

"What?" he snaps, not turning to face me.

"People can be loud without talking, you know," I say. "That's what it feels to be around you sometimes."

"Well, I'm so fucking sorry," he hisses, voice laced in sarcasm. "I'm sorry that I'm making things so damn difficult for you!"

"I didn't say that," I growl, impatiently. "I'm trying to say that you should go see Nichole. She might be able to help you get some peace and quiet. It can't be pleasant when things are that loud."

"It's not your business, though!" he cries, turning to face me again. He looks a right mess – his face is flushed, his nose is red, his eyes are leaking, his cheeks are wet.

"You made it my business," I try. "I wanna help you, that's why I'm doing this!"

"Well, stop it!"

"I spoke to Nichole," I say. "She said she would be happy to see you. She even offered to do it out of the office, so it would be more relaxing… maybe look at it like two friends catching up or something."

Kyle's expression changes. I can't even begin to explain it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's beyond furious, embarrassed, ashamed… "What?" he snaps. "Why did you do that? I _didn't_ tell you that you could do that!"

"Sorry," I say.

He takes a step towards me, placing his hand on my chest before grabbing a fistful of my coat's material. "No, you're not," he mumbles, before punching me in the face.

"Fuck," I hiss, stumbling backwards. He goes to do it again, but I catch his fist in my hand, tightening my grip around it.

"Let go!" he screams.

I don't say anything.

"Let go!" he screams again.

So I do, grabbing him by the shoulders and angrily shaking him. "You need fucking help," I spit.

"Don't touch me," he warns darkly and suddenly his expression changes. He is frowning. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Your pupils are dilated." Then, as though some sort of realization dawns upon him, he begins to laugh as he says, "You're high, aren't you? You're fucking high out of your mind. What are you on? Crack? Heroin? Meth?"

I quickly let go of him without saying anything. He just continues laughing to himself, before another wave of sobs wracks his body. "You promised… You promised me you wouldn't… God dammit," he wipes his cheeks. "I really hate you… You know, I never knew you had it in you, but you do. People always said you were a piece of shit when we were kids. I'd always stand up for you, but now I'm seeing what they saw in you a long time ago."

He begins to walk away, and I can't even gather up the strength to say a word.

"I take it back," he yells when he's a good distance away.

"What?" I ask weakly, unsure if he even hears it.

"I take it back," he repeats himself, "When I said you were a nice person… when I said I envied you. I don't envy you…"

God, I'm an asshole…

Christ, I really do hate myself sometimes.

* * *

It's raining later on in the night, adding to the whole miserable atmosphere.

It never really rains here. It usually snows, but every so often in the summer the sky will open up and spit on us a bit.

I'm sitting here watching some shitty sit-com about some shitty family and I have a bottle of Captain Morgan pressed between my lips.

It makes me think of my own family – especially my mum, and how much she must fucking hate her life. She probably hates Dad, too.

Maybe I really am a bastard child…

I remember me and Kevin would just stand there laughing when my mom started punching my dad. For us, this shit was normal.

I guess that's why I'm so fucked up. I mean, shit, I've watched enough _Criminal Minds_ enough to know the drill… but I wonder if I can change that. Or maybe history will just repeat itself.

"Hey," Craig flops down next to me.

I nod at him before taking another chug.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothin'."

He snorts. "Liar."

I frown, shutting my eyes. "I did something stupid."

"Yeah, what's new?"

"Shut the fuck up."

He smirks. "So, what'd you do this time?"

"I told a couple people something I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"Like a secret?" Craig asks.

"Like a secret."

"Did you apologize?"

"Yeah… but an apology isn't going to fix it this time."

"Was it a really intense secret or something?"

"It was something really bad."

Craig frowns, nodding.

"I mean… in the long run, it's probably for the best."

"That isn't for you to decide, though. Is it?"

I let out an irritated sigh, pressing the bottle to my lips again before taking yet another long sip.

"I don't understand how you can drink that shit straight…"

I snort. "Years being around Eric Cartman. He doesn't make his drinks any other way. If you're going to drink with him, you're going to drink like this. Go hard or go the fuck home."

Craig wrinkles his nose. "Anyway, you should apologize to Kyle."

"How did you know it was Kyle?"

"Because I think he's the only person you care enough about to be this upset over."

I stand up shakily.

Heh…

Jesus fuckin' Christ I'm drunk.

I can hardly fuckin' stand. Fuck.

You know how sometimes you don't even know it until you're on two feet and realize you can't stay on those two feet?

"Hold the fuck up," Craig says, pushing me back down onto the sofa. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To Kyle's."

"Like that? You can hardly stand up."

"I _need_ to!" I insist, rising to my feet again.

Besides, the walk isn't that long.

"No, sit the hell back down. When I said go apologize, I didn't mean now."

I push him, "Don't tell me what to do, dick."

"Tsk…" he sighs. "Fine, McCormick, do what you want. Go fuck it up like I know you will."

* * *

Minutes later, I arrive at Kyle's. I fell a handful of times, but I made it. I ring the doorbell, and for once, Ike doesn't answer. It's Kyle.

"What the fuck do you want?" he asks, clearly not happy to see me.

"Can I come in?"

"No."

I do anyway.

"Where's Ike?" I ask.

"If it's of utmost importance, he's at Filmore's. Now get the hell out of my house," he says.

"Kyle, I'm tryin' to say sorry!"

"You're drunk. It is pretty damn obvious," he states, slamming the door, "and I don't want to hear anything come out of your mouth when you're like this."

"KYLE –"

"Don't yell at me," he cuts me off as he begins walking upstairs. "Go away. You can let yourself out."

I don't.

Instead, I approach him and grab the back of his shirt.

Unfortunately, this is where Kyle gets startled and loses his balance. It is completely quiet, and I can see it all happening in slow motion –

Kyle falls into me as we both fly backwards, slowly descending towards the hard, wooden floor.

And I can now feel all his bones digging into mine.

"Ow," I croak. "Fuck…"

Kyle rolls off of me and lies on his side, groaning as he sits up.

"Shit," I cough out, unable to bring myself to budge.

"ASSHOLE!" he shrieks once the shock wears off. "That fucking hurt, you stupid, drunk bastard!"

"I'm not…" I mumble, sitting up.

I hate that fucking word…

Bastard.

I'm not a bastard…

"Yes, you are, and you are _sooo_ like your father," he bitterly spits.

"Don't say that!" I force myself to a standing position, ready to pick a fight.

"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" he asks, following me to his feet.

"Fuck you, Kyle!" I yell, the rips leaving my mouth before I can stop them. I don't even know how angry I was until I begin to let it out. I don't know why I am so angry, or who I am so angry at. "I came here to apologize, but you won't even fucking listen to me!"

Maybe, deep down, I am angry at Kyle for reasons I shouldn't be. And maybe, less deep down, I am angry at myself.

"You don't deserve forgiveness," he says.

With murderous intent, I take a step forward and give him one harsh back-handed smack across the face. His head swings to the side with the force of it, a soft sound of shock leaving his mouth.

He doesn't say anything. He puts a hand to his cheek, wearing an expression that shows hurt and disbelief, among other things.

He is hurt.

I hurt him.

I know that is a face I'll never forget. It is appalling and agonizing, but I can't seem to care.

"Why?" I ask, shrugging off how desperate I sound and somewhat unsure of what it is I'm asking him.

He opens his mouth, but then closes it a second later, unsure of what to say. He begins to back away.

"Don't you dare leave when I'm trying to fuckin' talk to you!"

"This isn't talking," he says quietly.

I stalk towards him carefully, like some sort of rabid animal on the hunt. I see him back away some more, but I keep moving towards him until I have him in the kitchen.

I can't bottle it up any more, everything I am feeling… I need to let it out.

"Fuck you, Kyle," I whisper again, in an eerily calm voice before shoving him hard. My words are like a fucking shotgun to his brain.

He falls onto the floor and I crouch down, sitting on his stomach.

"Say you'll listen," I hiss. He sinks into himself and shrinks away from me, scared of where this may lead.

What the fuck am I doing?

"O-Okay," he stutters, holding his hands up to catch my fist before I'm able to hit him again.

"Say it without flinching!" I scream, ripping my hand out of his grip and pounding my fist on the floor next to his head.

He closes his eyes.

"Look at me, Kyle!" I pull him up by the shirt and ignore the fear on his face as I slam him back down onto the hardwood floor. I don't stop; even after he starts to cry.

"Stop it!" he yells, "Please, stop!"

But I don't listen. I just keep shaking him, beating him like I am trying to tenderize a fucking piece of meat.

"_You_ stop it! Stop crying!" I yell, looking down at him, but that only makes him cry harder. Harsh sobs wrack his entire body as he shakes beneath me.

He turns his head to the side, probably in an attempt to mentally get away from me, but I don't let him. I just grab his head and force him to look at me.

I pant, mostly out of a tiring kind of anger. I lean down slowly, with my lips nearing his, and whisper, "Don't look away."

I sit back up and watch the tears pouring out of his bloodshot eyes as he stares up at me.

"You shouldn't look away either," he whisper back, grabbing a handful of the material of my shirt.

Why am I doing this?

I made him cry.

Eventually his violent sobs turn into a crazed kind of laughter, making him look the very picture of insanity.

"For a second, I thought you were going to do a lot more than just slap me a bit," he says, letting go of my shirt and wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

"For a second, so did I," I admit, though the confession gives me knots in my stomach. I had just released the side of myself that I never wanted to show Kyle. It's never been this bad before…

Why do I find it so hard to be gentle with him?

Why do I hurt all the people I care about?

These are questions I wish I didn't have to ask myself.

He sits up and immediately begins to cough.

This is when I leave. I need to cool down.

By the time I reach the front door I can hear Kyle's voice in the kitchen.

"Stan?" followed by a poorly suppressed sob. He's probably on the phone and his super best friend will show up here any second ready to kill me. Part of me wants to stay and let him give me what I have coming, but I can't find it in me to stop walking. I'm scared, but I know I have no right to be.

On my way through the front doors, I see Kyle's parents pull into the driveway and I find myself wondering what they would have done to stop me.

"Hello, Kenny," Gerald greets me with a polite smile.

"Hi, Mr. Broflovski," I say numbly, trying to even out my voice and not look as wasted as I am. "Hi, Mrs. Broflovski."

"Hi, there, Kenny," she says. "Visiting Kyle?"

"Yeah, but I gotta go now…"

"Come back soon," she smiles, "I know how much Kyle enjoys your company."

As I turn down the dark streets, I get hit by a semi. I can't say I don't deserve it.

I should have listened to Craig.


	11. Running

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Shout out to Profe for finally reading this :P **

* * *

Death took away what probably would have been a pretty nasty hangover, so now all I can do is think about how horrible I was last night.

On top of my intense guilt, I can now hear Stan breathing these heavy, angry breaths. His eyebrows are drawn together and he's staring right at me with his fists clenched at his sides.

Seconds ago, the doorbell rang. I expected the worst, and I received it. Stan is here to exact a pound of flesh.

I take a step back and spread my arms out before letting them fall to my sides. "Hit me," I say. "I know you want to."

He doesn't hesitate to charge right at me and give me a hard and well deserved punch in the face. I stumble backwards, but I don't fall. He hits me again, even harder, and this time I do fall. I swear I even feel a tooth crack… Yup, there it is.

"Done already?" I ask, spitting part of a front tooth out into the floor.

"I'm done," Stan says.

"Heh," I chuckle, letting my nose bleed onto my shirt. "I thought you were coming here to kill me."

"I wouldn't sink that low."

"Yeah… I know you wouldn't," I say, sitting up.

"Why the fuck did you do it?" he asks, sinking down next to me.

"Because I'm a drunken idiot," I say.

"You know… that was the last thing he needed, especially from someone he trusted… someone he considered a friend."

"I know."

"He's a mess right now…"

"I know."

"He didn't tell his parents what happened. I don't know why. I tried to when I got there, but he wouldn't let me."

"I know."

"Stop fucking saying that!" he snaps at me. "How can you know that?"

"Because that's just the way he is."

"Tsk…" Stan looks at me distastefully. "You sure took advantage of that. What are you going to do to make it right?"

"I'm not going to see him again. That's the best thing I can do for him."

"You know, I was beginning to think someone like Kyle could have really made things all right for a stupid, dumbass guy like you," Stan admits. "I thought maybe he'd be a good influence over you… maybe he'd straighten you out a bit and at the same time, maybe you'd be good for him, too. Maybe you'd be able to help him loosen up a bit. I was wrong."

I force a smile. "He's too good for me."

"Yeah, he is."

* * *

After Stan leaves, I spend a few hours alone being miserable until the doorbell rings again. This time it's Ike. Oh, joy. This should be even better than Stan's visit.

"I got home this morning and knew something was wrong," he says vaguely.

"Oh."

"What did you do to him?"

"What?"

"What did you do to Kyle, _asshole_?" he repeats the question, adding in a special insult just for me. "You did something stupid."

"I hit him. I scared him. He thought I was going to do worse."

Ike's lips part in shock and probably anger as he kicks me in the shins.

"Ow, fuck!" I hiss, dropping to the floor and cradling my leg.

"That one's for Kyle," he spits. "You know… I think he was beginning to fall for you."

"He denied it."

"Just because he said that, doesn't mean he meant it. People lie, Kenny. Kyle lies all the damn time, but mostly to himself."

"Well, it's probably good this ended when it did, then." Because I know I'm more than capable of doing it again.

"Tsk… piece of shit," he says before leaving.

And of course, Craig is there to witness it all.

"Wow. What the fuck did you do?" he asks, arms crossed as he leans in the doorway.

"Ughh," I groan.

"Oh, I see," he says sarcastically. "I'm going to go ahead and assume the thing with Kyle didn't go so smoothly. I think I could have told you that. In fact, I did tell you to wait until you were sober. It's your own fault for being a fucking idiot."

"Fuck you," I tell him.

He flips me off and leaves the room.

I continue to lay on the floor, unable to gather the energy to move. I feel like crying, which is weird, because I rarely cry these days.

I need a distraction.

* * *

I promised myself I'd never touch the bad stuff, but I did. First cocaine and now this.

It felt different than any other drugs I've done. I guess I've only done the stuff that doesn't screw with you too much. This was on a completely different level.

Meth… I guess it was a pretty stupid and desperate attempt at running away. Kyle would be so disappointed and disgusted – even more than he already is.

After that, I went to see Tammy. I don't know why I chose to go to her after being apart for so many years. I guess for comfort. I knew she was one of the people who wouldn't push me away. She'd give me what I needed. So we ended up having sex and each quiet moan I let out sounded like a fuckin' sob. Her god damn kid was standing there in the doorway the whole time watching and I didn't even notice until I pulled out and collapsed next to her mere seconds ago.

"Shit!" I yell, scrambling to cover my crotch with the sheets and nearly falling off the bed in the process.

He is just standing there looking upset. "Why are you hurting each other?" he asks, looking thoroughly horrified.

If the situation wasn't so fucked up I might laugh.

Is that what it looked like? Or maybe… Maybe that's what we _were_ doing.

Jesus Christ kids are insightful and scary.

"Sweetie," Tammy says, holding a pillow against her body, "We aren't hurting each other. Go back to bed. I'll come tuck you in in a minute."

He nods, glaring at me before turning around and walking back down the hallway.

"Holy fucking shit," I say, staring at her with wide eyes and an expression that probably shows how mortified I am.

"I'm sorry," she frowns, "I thought he was asleep… he's a heavy sleeper."

"What the fuck are you going to tell him?" I ask.

"The truth," she says.

"You think that'll fuck him up? He's only, what, seven?"

She laughs, "Ken, do you remember what we were like when we were that age? I think we turned out all right."

"Speak for your fucking self." I stand up and begin to get redressed.

She raises an eyebrow. "Watch your tone."

I sigh. "Sorry."

"It's fine…"

"You know, back when we dated…" I pause, "I cheated on you."

She turns her head and smiles up at the ceiling, "Yeah, I know that. I… I had guessed that is what you were doing."

"Don't you want to know who it was with?"

She shakes her head. "It was a boy, right?"

"Aren't you angry?"

She shakes her head again, "It was a long time ago. It would be ridiculous of me to hold a grudge over something that happened when we were children."

I pause and run my hand through my hair, sighing. "I beat up one of the most important people in my life last night."

"Why are you here, then?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

I'm still running. I can't bear to look at Kyle and face the consequences of what I did – see the bruises.

Once I'm dressed I take a seat on the edge of her bed, sandwiching my head between my knees. "Christ," I say, "I thought I was going to fucking murder him. Unlike me, he wouldn't have come back. I needed to get away from him so I wouldn't completely destroy him."

"Why come to me?" she asks, letting go of the pillow and slipping her nightdress back on.

"Because you're familiar," I admit, "You're comfortable."

True enough. It definitely wasn't her body – beautiful as it may be. It was hard to keep it up without thinking about _other things_.

She smiles serenely, "I think you should fix things with your friend. I think right now, he probably needs you and you probably need him. You don't need me. You never have."

"Tammy…"

Fuck, why do I always hurt people?

"It's okay, Ken," she says, lightly touching my shoulder.

"Is it?" I lift my head.

"Do you love this person?" she asks.

"Yeah, I do," I peer up at her from my seat on the bed. "Sorry."

"Then it's fine," she says, "Besides, I knew tonight wouldn't amount to anything."

"Then why?"

She shrugs. "I know you," she says. "I knew when I saw you that this was what you needed. I didn't mind giving it."

I frown. I know it's true, but hearing someone else say it makes me sound so fucking pathetic.

"I knew it wasn't going to hurt me. I wasn't doing it for me," she says. "I've moved on. I don't love you the way I did when we were young. I'll always care about you, but it's not the same as love. So don't worry about me anymore, okay? Just worry about this person you have feelings for. Try to make it right."

"Think I can?"

"Maybe," she laughs softly.

Hah, no.

I laugh along with her. "Shit," I say, "I really suck, huh?"

She smiles, "No, you don't. You're just a mess right now."

"Yeah, I am."

"You need to sort yourself out."

"I know."

She stands up. "I'm going to tuck Jamie in," she says before leaving the room.

I should leave, but I can't bring myself to just yet because I know that once I leave it'll be like stepping back into reality. I'll have to say sorry. I'll have to make things right, even though it'll be hard. Then again, maybe it won't even be possible. I gave Kyle the one thing he didn't fucking need. He already got enough of that shit from the last person who made it seem like they cared. I'm no better than that asshole who turned Kyle into who he is today. Jesus Christ. This is making me sick.

When Tammy returns, she gives me yet another sympathetic smile. "Do you want to talk about it some more?"

I rub my hand over my face. "I just… I did a lot of shitty things to this guy. I mean… he didn't deserve any of it. He's already been through enough shit. I just made it worse."

She nods, urging me to continue.

"I forced him to experience something traumatic he went through in the past… the hitting. He didn't need that… he didn't need any of it. He was scared. I can't get his fucking expression out of my head," I hiss, grabbing at my hair.

"Ken," she says softly, "I don't know what to tell you. I wish I did, I really do, but I don't. I hope someday that you can find it in yourself to make things okay with this man. Maybe, someday, you'll be able to forgive yourself, as well. However, I think the only way you'll be able to do that is if you make things right with this man. That said, don't be selfish. Don't go to him only to ease your own pain. You can't keep doing that."

"Yeah…" I whisper, trying to soak up what she's saying. "I don't even care about me, I just… I want him to be happy."

"I know," she says. "Stay here for the night. You can sleep on the sofa," she offers.

"Okay."

"It's comfortable, trust me," she laughs quietly.

"Okay," I repeat monotonously, following her out into the living room.

Her apartment is nice. Modest, but really classy in a simplistic way. It's even nicer than the place I share with Craig.

It's kind of funny. She's the one who dropped out of high school and had a baby, yet she's doing so much better than I am. She isn't hopped up on drugs. She isn't hurting the people in her life. It's me. I'm the one doing all of that shit.

I guess sometimes the stereotypes don't mean a thing.

She fetches a blanket from the linen closet and hands it to me.

"Thanks."

"Goodnight," she says.

"'Night…"

So maybe I won't be able to simply leave it be. I think if I do, I'll begin to waste away.

Then again, maybe I deserve to.


	12. Change

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**A lil timeskip.**

* * *

It's been months since I've spoken to Kyle. Well, since I hit him… I guess there wasn't really much talking. In those months, I've been slowly burying myself. It hasn't done any good.

Kyle has already started his new job. I wonder how he's holding up.

Stan won't talk to me anymore. I don't blame him. If I wasn't myself, I'd probably ignore me, too.

Eric still hangs around me, but we don't ever talk about Kyle. I wonder if he's secretly angry with me, too. Wouldn't that be a funny twist?

I've mostly been hanging around the house. I've been at the auto shop when called, I've done countless deals as well. Stan's boss called me a couple times, asking if I wanted to sing, but I refused. I don't really think I'm welcome there anymore.

So I'm sitting around Harbucks right now. I went to see Tweek on his break, but his break is over and I'm just sitting here with a cup of hot chocolate, moping.

Moping seems to be all I do these days.

"Hey, Kenny!"

I turn around and spot Nichole.

"Hey… Daily coffee run?"

She chuckles, holding her cup up. "Yes."

She starts speaking again, but my head is filled with cotton and I can hardly register a word she is saying.

"Sorry, what?" I mumble.

She frowns. "Kenny, you look worn down."

"I am," I chuckle tiredly.

"If you ever want to talk, I'm always here. Me and Token are still expecting that phone call," she offers.

"Yeah," I let out a sigh, disappointed and angry at myself. "I'm really messed up right now. I don't know what to do."

She nods sympathetically. "Do you want to come over? Or we can sit down somewhere to talk, if you'd like. It would be completely off the record. Like my offer for Kyle, think of it more like two friends catching up."

Maybe that would be a good idea.

"Please..."

* * *

We go back to her place and sit in the living room. Her place with Token is really nice. I'm almost scared to touch anything in case I end up dirtying all their fancy stuff.

Nichole doesn't push me to talk. She asks vague questions at first, letting me say as much as I want to. I tell her about Kyle. I tell her how I feel about him, what I did to him… but I don't tell her about what happened to him. I'm trying to be careful now. I'm trying not to tell other people's secrets anymore. It's one of many habits I need to kick.

"He told me that he hates me."

"Do you think he meant it?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "I think he did."

"You have a lot of bottled up anger… You need to find a healthy way of letting it out," she says softly.

"I know," I frown.

"Was that was the last thing he said to you? That he hated you?"

I shake my head telling her, "He said, 'For a second, I thought you were going to do a lot more damage than just a couple hits.' That's the last thing he said. I told him, 'For a second, so did I,' and then I left..."

Eric told me I really did a number on Kyle's face. Of course I didn't see the damage for myself, but knowing it was more than enough. The fact that I was so easily capable of that makes me want to fucking puke.

"Oh, Kenny," she quietly says. "What brought on such a violent response?"

She probably thinks I'm shit now, too. "I was drunk and he called me a bastard."

"And that bothered you to an uncontrollable point?"

"Yes," I grit my teeth.

"Why?"

"Because I think I really am a bastard."

She frowns, nodding her head as I talk.

"Everyone fucking hates me now," I bite out.

"That's not true. I don't hate you. I don't think they hate you, either, Kenny," she offers. "I think they're just angry, and shocked."

I scrunch up my face. "I've…" I trail off. "I can't make it up to them… I can't make it up to him." I pause, "Kyle, I mean. I fucked up way too many times."

"If you want to, you will need to make some changes in your life. You'll need to take a look at yourself, take a look at your life. You'll need to find out what makes you angry, what makes you violent."

"Drugs and alcohol," I say bitterly.

She nods, "See, you will need to avoid those things. They are dangerous not only for you, but for the people around you as well."

"I've learned that the hard way…"

She frowns. "If you really want to earn forgiveness – if you really want to make it up to your friends you will need to make these changes and stick to them. It will be best for you and for them, too."

"I know," I sigh.

"That said, you can't simply expect them to accept you with open arms. You'll need to give them space, but let them know you want to make things right again."

I nod slowly.

"Kenny," she pauses. "Can I ask you why you partake in drugs and alcohol?"

I frown, feeling my eyebrows draw together. "Because I grew up seeing my parents drink… it's just normal for me. I've been drinking since I was a kid and I'd get high off of whatever I could get my hands on, whether it be cough syrup, glue or god damn cats."

"Is it how you comfort yourself in times of stress?"

"I guess so."

"You'll need to figure out how to manage your anxieties."

"I know," I murmur.

"Are your parents violent?"

"My dad is… Well, sometimes my mum is sometimes, too. I remember her punching my dad a lot when we were kids. Me and Kevin would just laugh at it, you know? Like… we thought it was so fucking funny. They'd be high or drunk and fighting and yelling at each other. We'd just laugh. Karen, my little sister, she'd just be crying in her room the whole damn time. She hated it. I think she hated us, too. Well… hell, I tried for her. I really did. I wanted to keep her safe from all that shit. I didn't end up doing any good, but she got out on her own."

"That's good," Nichole says softly. "Where is she now?"

"She lives with her friend – the younger sister of Craig, actually. Apparently they got a place together."

Nichole smiles, "That's great."

"Yeah," I force a smile.

I really am glad Karen doesn't have to grow up seeing us all continue to fuck up and waste away.

"Often children repeat their parents' mistakes," Nichole says. "It is unfortunate, but it does happen. Young minds are incredibly impressionable. Anger often stems from childhood experiences and traumas."

"I know," I say. Boy, do I ever know.

"Have they ever laid a hand on you?"

"I mean, my dad hit me a few times when I was a kid, but I was usually asking for it," I snort. "You remember how I was…"

"You were a child…" she frowns. "That isn't the proper way to deal with a rowdy child."

I shrug.

"So, Mr. McCormick," she says in a mock business tone, "are you going to make the necessary changes to ensure the safety of yourself and those around you?"

I close my eyes briefly.

Do I want to continue like this, or do I want to change?

The answer seems simple enough.

I want to change.

I want to be better…

But it's easier said than done.

"I want to try," I tell her.

She nods, smiling slightly.

"I just don't know where to start."

"Start by vowing off drugs and alcohol," she says. "Get rid of any illicit substances you have on you. That part may be difficult, but you can do it."

I feel myself frown.

"Now, when I say _sobriety_, I don't mean you can never have a drink again. Just be careful. A sip of wine at dinner won't hurt you, but downing a bottle of rum is hardly a nice idea. For now, however, it is probably best you avoid alcohol altogether – at least until you are comfortable with your sobriety and no longer feel the need to drink yourself sick."

"Okay," I whisper.

"After that, you can try contacting your friends."

I nod my head. "Okay," I say again.

She smiles again, wider this time. "I'm really happy you're trying to make positive changes, Kenny."

"Thanks," I say, somewhat embarrassed. Hell, I didn't do anything yet. All I did was say a few pretty words. Hopefully I'll be able to make it happen, though.

"So, who have you been hanging around lately?" she asks.

I shrug. "I ran into Tammy recently… I met her kid. After the fuck up with Kyle, I went straight to her."

"Tammy?"

"My first and only girlfriend," I snort.

"I see."

"Yeah… she's sweet. She gave me… comfort… We've been talking ever since."

"Are you happy about that?"

"Yeah…" I admit. "I guess it feels all right. I mean… I fucked things up with her when we were young. I cheated on her, I was an asshole. I came clean about it all. She forgave me. She's… She's a good person."

"She sounds like it," Nichole smiles. "It's good to surround yourself with people like that."

"Yeah," I say. "Eric talks to me still… but he's kind of weird. It's like he thinks I'll snap any second and flip out at him. It's like every time we're together he's mentally preparing for something bad to happen. I think he wants to avoid having to clean up one of my messes."

Nichole nods.

"I mean… I get why he's being cautious. I do… it's just…" I trail off. "Anyway, Stan and Kyle don't talk to me... I mean, Kyle hates me and Stan probably hates me even more than Kyle does because he's Kyle's closest friend. He feels like he needs to harbour twice the hate for Kyle's sake."

"Have you seen either of them recently?"

"No," I say. "I've been avoiding them the same way they've been avoiding me, I think. I don't go to the bar anymore. I avoid certain streets…"

"I see."

"Yeah," I shrug. "I mean… It all sounds pretty fuckin' immature when I say it," I snort. "I guess it is… on my half, that is."

She smiles softly. "You're only trying to protect yourself."

"How?"

"You don't want any more pain… You hurt your friends, and in turn, you hurt yourself."

"Is that how things work?" I laugh sadly.

"I think so."

"It sounds so selfish."

"One can argue that there is no such thing as altruism. We are always doing things for others to please ourselves in some way. Even doing a random good deed makes us feel good, and therefore, can it be considered selfless? In the end, maybe everything is for our own benefit, even if only in a small way."

"Really? I guess I never thought of it that way…" I admit. "Makes the world sound damn shitty."

Tammy believes the opposite of what Nichole is saying. I'd like to believe what Tammy believes, but what Nichole just told me makes more sense.

How fucking sad is that?

"I know," she laughs, "but there is still so much good in the world. You just need to look closely to see it."

"Yeah."

…and maybe I'll start doing that.


	13. Father

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks ~ (:**

* * *

Token ended up walking through the doors shortly after me and Nichole stopped talking about my issues. He was surprised to see me, but he seemed happy. It felt kind of nice to have someone excited to see me. He even gave me a big hug, complete with several pats on the back.

"Long time no see!" he grinned, and I ended up having dinner with them.

It was really nice.

The whole atmosphere of their house was pleasant. It was probably the nicest time I've had in a long time, and I was sure to let them know that before I left.

Now I'm having tea with Tammy. Not really a tea fan, but she's starting to change my mind with her crazy and creative flavors.

I tell her about my day, about my decision to try and better myself.

"I'm happy for you," She smiles at me from across the kitchen table before sipping her tea.

"Thanks," I return the smile, taking a sip of my own.

"How is it?" she asks.

"It's good," I say.

"Are you just saying that?" she chuckles.

"No," I laugh, "really, it's good. What flavour is it? I can't quite place it."

"A mix of many."

"I should've known," I grin.

"So," she says, and I can tell we're going to start talking about important things.

"Hm?"

"Do you think it will be hard?"

"What?"

"Quitting drinking… and the drugs," she mentions carefully.

"Yeah… it will," I shrug. The withdrawal is probably going to be the hardest.

I mean, sure, I can't really develop serious addictions. I mean… Okay, fine, I've got a bit of a bruise on my forearm and I haven't died in a while, but I can get rid of that easily. The part I'm most worried about is that I'll be too mentally weak to quit… that I'll get upset over something dumb and get high or whatever.

"I don't want to keep hurting people," I admit, ashamed. "I've hurt so many people… and traumatized your fuckin' kid, too," I add, recalling the time a few months back when we was standing in the doorway.

She sighs, "Kenny, you really are a bit of an idiot."

"What?" I mumble hoarsely. No need to point out the obvious.

"Can I tell you something?" she asks.

I raise an eyebrow. "Yes… What is it?"

She takes a deep breath, pausing before she exhales.

"Tammy," I say impatiently.

"He's yours," she says. "Jamie is yours."

Wait…

What?

No.

No, no, no, no, no…

"Tammy…" I just about choke. I stand up quickly, knocking the chair over in the process. "Don't joke…"

She just smiles softly and sympathetically. "I'm really sorry…"

"No…"

"I should have told you sooner."

"No…"

"Yes."

"Are you sure he's mine?" I ask weakly, feeling my heart palpitating and my palms beginning to sweat. Hell, I'm even shaking.

She laughs quietly. "Kenny, I know I had a downright insane reputation when we were in high school… I mean, so did you, right? It wasn't fair, and half the things the kids said about us weren't true… You were the only guy I slept with around that time. He can't be anyone else's… and… he has your eyes."

I rub my hand down my face before clawing at my hair. God, I feel like crying.

I turn around, staring at his bedroom door. "I'm a dad?"

She nods.

"Is he awake now?" I ask in a wet voice, scared out of my fucking mind.

"No, he's asleep."

Good… I'm not ready for this just yet.

Will I ever be?

I stand up and wander towards his room. I slowly open the door, looking inside at the small figure asleep in the bed in the right corner of the room.

"He's mine?" I whisper shakily.

"Yeah," she says, getting up to stand beside me. "I'm not telling you that you have to be a part of his life… but it would be nice. I didn't think it would be fair to keep him from meeting his father. I think… I think you'd love him and he'd love you. I think you could both learn a lot from each other."

"What…" I ask weakly, too numb to speak coherently.

"I thought it would be best, at first, if you didn't know…" she admits. "I…" she frowns and her eyebrows draw together, "every time I wanted to tell you, I'd get scared. I didn't want to cause you any stress, so I left it. I know you weren't rolling in the riches and raising a child is expensive."

"Tammy, that's –"

She interrupts, "I _know_ I should have told you. I wanted to. Every time I saw you and we said hello, I wanted to tell you… but I know you had a lot going on. We got older, and you…" She trails off.

"I wasn't stable," I fill in the blanks. "I wasn't stable and I wouldn't have made a good father."

She looks sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "Don't be. Everything you said is fair… I would have been a shitty father. I mean… even now…"

"Do you want me to tell him?" she asks.

"I…" I sniff. "Shit, I'm gonna start cryin' in a sec," I force a quiet laugh. I feel feeble, frail and insecure.

She laughs quietly. "I really am sorry, Ken."

I shake my head again. "I think… I think I want to be a part of his life…"

I think I really do.

"You'll be fine," she says softly. "You'll be great."

* * *

I don't know about that, but shit, I'm going to try. I'm going to try so damn hard.

Maybe Tammy thought this would be the perfect time to tell me I have a son. It's incentive to behave. If I can't fix my life for myself, then I should be able to do it for him… for my friends… for the people who care about me.

Maybe I can fake it 'til I make it? Kyle once told me there was truth to that old saying.

I let out a sigh. It's really late now, and I should be heading home to sleep, but I know I'd never be able to with my mind reeling.

I wander to Stark's Pond and sift through my backpack.

I take out the syringe I've been using and toss it into the part of the pond that isn't quite frozen over yet. I roll up my coat sleeve, staring down at the damage it has done to my arm.

Gross…

My forearm is starting to turn a funky color – a sickening shade of purple and seeping nasty, yellow shit. I should probably wrap it up when I get home.

I shudder, rolling my sleeve back down before I continue to sift through my bag – taking out the cocaine and various other drugs and pills. I pour them all out into the lake, feeling angry with myself – angry I let it go this far.

I just wanna go home and cry myself to sleep.

You know when you are trying hard not to just start sobbing uncontrollably – your throat is constricting and it feels like there's someone there wrapping their fingers around it. It is difficult to describe feelings, but I would say that comes close to the way I am feeling right now.

I stifle a sob and my mind unravels from here.

Grief suddenly springs through me, like weeds through the grass. Every inch of my composure leaves my body and runs out the nearest door.

I stare out at the lake – yet another place that holds so man goddamn memories. I feel my eyes get wet, and an unfamiliar liquid running down them.

I'm finally crying.

I haven't cried in so damn long, but here I am now and I'm doing it so freely.

It feels good… it feels good to finally let it out.

I cry until the point where I'm basically screaming into the dark sky. I cry until my throat is sore and my eyes feel dry.

After I begin to calm down, I'm still shuddering and making these quiet whimpering sounds.

I let myself fall backwards onto the snow.

It's particularly cold out, and I tighten the drawstrings on my hood before shoving my hands in my pockets.

I look up at the moon and just think.

I think about me. I think about how dumb I am.

Moments later, I find my eyes closing.

I don't know how long I'm just laying like that, but soon I hear someone saying my name –

"_K-Kenny?"_

"_Kenny?"_

"_Kenny!"_

…Wait…

Is someone really saying my name, or am I just imagining it?

It's late and I don't understand who would be out at this time of night, let alone wondering around Stark's pond.

I slowly open my eyes and see that I'm face to face with Kyle.

"Kyle?" I mumble. "Are you real?" I slowly reach my hand towards him only to have him slap it away.

"Yes, I'm real," he crosses his arms, a defensive pose.

I frantically wipe my eyes, and I spot a brief flicker of sympathy cross Kyle's face.

"Why are you here?" I ask hoarsely, sniffing quietly and trying hard to gather myself.

"I th-thought you might be dead…" he stutters out the words. "I came to check…"

"Stop being so scared… I'm not going to do anything."

He visibly attempts to relax himself.

"Besides," I continue slowly and airily, "I meant outside in general, not just right here at the pond."

"I'm… I'm out for a walk – clearing my head, if you will."

"But it's late."

"It's quiet…" he says. "I like the night for that reason."

He's probably having trouble sleeping again. Bad dreams and whatnot.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," I say weakly.

"No…" he whispers.

I frown.

"Y-you can't try to guilt me, Kenny!" he suddenly raises his voice. "I didn't do anything… I didn't do anything to you! You're the one who hurt me! I'm not just going to forgive you because you're on fucking drugs and because you're here crying by yourself! No! How pathetic do you think I am?"

"I know, Kyle. I'm not asking you to do that. I'm not asking you to forgive me at all… I just needed to say it at least one more time."

I suddenly throw my hands up, stretching my arms before sitting up.

Kyle flinches away from the gesture.

I stare at him, "…You thought I was going to hit you."

"It wouldn't be the first time," he says bitterly, "Or the second, or third…"

"I'm sorry."

"If you're sorry, you should… you should prove it," he says calmly.

"I will… Just tell me how."

He shakes his head, "That isn't something I can do for you. It's something you have to figure out."

"But why?"

"If I tell you, you won't learn."

"Will you let me?"

And maybe it's unfair of me to ask what I'm trying to ask, but I can't help myself.

He pauses, frowning. "Why am I so fucking weak when it comes to you?" he whispers. "I should still be angry… angry to the point where I refuse to speak to you."

"If it's any consolation, I wish you weren't weak when it comes to me…" I admit. "I wish you'd hurt me the way I hurt you."

"Sometimes… Sometimes I think I'd like to hurt you, but I know I'm not strong enough to do the desired damage."

"Yeah…" is all I say. To be honest, I think if Kyle wanted to, he could do a hell of a lot of damage. I wish he just would. Then again, this is why he's a better person than I am. He doesn't go around hurting people, even when they deserve it. After all, two negatives make a positive but two wrongs don't make a right.

"You have a lot of anger problems. You need to find a better way to let it out."

"I know… Nichole told me that."

"You went to see her?"

"Yes."

"That's good…"

"I'm… I'm going to try and change… I want to… to be better."

Kyle simply nods, not saying another word.

"Anyway…" I stand up slowly. "I'm going to head home."

He nods again. "I'm going to sit here for a while."

"All right… G'night, Kyle."

"Goodnight, Kenny," he whispers as I walk away.


	14. Son

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Enjoy~ **

* * *

"That is fucking nasty," Craig cringes days later when he spots me wandering around the apartment wearing a t-shirt. I feel airy and stupid.

I've recovered from a particularly nasty withdrawal. Well, the worst of it, that is. I'm still shaky and tired. Hell, though, that's a lot better than sweating, crying, puking and pissing myself. Yep. I pissed myself like a fucking baby.

Craig needed the list of drugs I had been doing and I had to give it to him. He was on the phone with Nichole half the time, since I insisted I didn't need a trip of Hell's Pass. She was a huge help. The worst of it was long and painful, but I did get to see the softer side of the ever stoic Craig Tucker.

I don't know how many times I begged and sobbed for him to, "Just kill me."

I wanted to die so fucking badly, but Craig saw me through it and insisted that this would "make me stronger" and also that I deserved to feel some pain.

I couldn't really argue with that last point… I think that's what made me finally shut up. I can't keep taking the easy way out. Hopefully that experience will be a reminder about how fucking stupid drugs really are.

I look down at my forearm. "Eh… yeah…" I shrug. "It kinda feels weird when I touch it."

Craig grimaces, "Then don't… You should get it looked at."

"I don't want to get fuckin' arrested for being a junky… Maybe it'll just go away."

"I don't know about that. I think you need to see a doctor… besides, pushing more shit into your veins isn't going to make it better. They'll collapse soon enough."

"I'm not going to."

"Well, still," he shrugs. "I don't think it's going to just go away. It's pretty gross looking."

"Then I'll have to kill myself," I snort.

"Don't say it so lightly," he frowns. "You better stay sober after all I've helped you through in these past few days."

Oh, how the tables have turned. It used to be me helping Craig… or, at least, trying to help him. I feel like he did a hell of a lot more for me than I ever could have imagined doing for him.

"How are you, anyway?" he crosses his arms.

"I'm okay…" I admit. "I don't think I told you, but I saw Kyle a little while ago."

"Did you?" he tilts his head to the side.

"Yeah," I smile faintly, recalling the awkward conversation. "I had just finished bawling my eyes out," I force a chuckle.

"I didn't think you cried much… Well, not including when you were detoxing."

"I don't really," I admit, choosing not to mention that though that's the case, I _feel_ like crying a lot. Especially as of late.

"So, why did you?"

"I went to see a therapist. She made me do a lot of thinking… and later on in the night I got some sobering news… somewhat of an ultimatum, in ways."

"Yeah?"

I let out a sigh. "You know Tammy?"

"Your ex?"

I nod.

"What about her?"

"You know how she had a kid?" I pause.

Craig nods again, and I watch a look of realization spread across his face. "No… You're fucking kidding," he deadpans, his jaw dropping – if the circumstances were different, I'd probably laugh out loud and point out that he's being expressive.

Instead, I just nod my head. "That was basically my reaction, too, when I found out…"

"What the fuck are you going to do?" Craig asks.

"Well… my best, I suppose."

"That's why you're sobering up?"

"Part of the reason."

"Well… if that's what it takes, good for you."

"I decided I was going to do it before I even received that news. I think Tammy chose to tell me to give me further incentive and so I wouldn't change my mind when it got too hard."

"Hm… Honestly, my mind is still reeling," he snorts. "You? A father?"

"I know…"

"Are you scared?"

"Hell yes," I frown. "I don't want to be a crappy father. I had a crappy father, and look how I turned out. I don't want him to be like me. I don't want him to repeat my mistakes."

"Since you're conscious of all this, I'm sure you'll be able to do a better job than your parents did. Just keep reminding yourself of it. Make your knowledge and experiences available so he can learn from your mistakes."

"Yeah …"

I'll never forgive myself if I hurt this kid.

"Have you met him yet?"

"A few times… but he doesn't know I'm his dad yet."

"I think you should go see him," Craig says. "Maybe he will be able to help you."

"How?"

"You might learn something from him."

"Tammy said that, too." I sigh, "Every time I'm there I just end up screwing something up. We met when I was walking out of Harbucks, but the next time I saw him I was too busy fucking his mom to notice he was there the whole time. The rest has just been awkward stares."

Craig shakes his head at me.

"I'm usually upset when I'm there. He probably thinks I'm incredibly lame. He probably has the worst impression of me."

"So what?" Craig shrugs. "Impressions can change. People can change, too. To an extent, at least."

"You think I can change?"

"Yeah," he says, "I think you can."

"Thanks, Craig."

"Sure, Kenny," his lips quirk upward.

That's right, Craig Tucker just fuckin' smiled.

* * *

In the evening, I grab my coat and make my way over to Tammy's. Craig lets me borrow his car, thank Christ, because it's snowing out.

When I arrive, Jamie answers the door and I find myself at a loss for words.

He gives me a look before turning around and yelling, "MOM!"

Tammy walks into the entrance, towel drying her hands with a kitchen cloth. "Hey, Ken," she says. "I was just making dinner."

"Oh," I say.

She smiles, ushering, "Come in, come in."

I step inside and Jamie shuts the door behind me, following his mother back in the kitchen. I trail after them silently.

"Ken," Tammy says.

"Hm?" I mumble.

"Ready?"

I nod.

Jamie gives us both a strange look as he watches us talk.

"Sweetie," Tammy smiles, bending down so she's at eye level with the boy. "I want you to meet someone."

"Mr. McCormick?" the kid looks over at me questioningly and Tammy nods.

"Yes, Jamie," she says, "I want you to meet your father."

His eyes widen. He looks at Tammy, and then back at me again.

I crouch down so I'm at eye level with him. Shit, I don't really know what the hell to say so I just smile. He smiles back and touches my stubbly face with his tiny hand.

"So, you're my dad," he says.

"Looks like it," I reply. "Sorry we didn't tell you sooner."

He's staring right into my eyes, and I want to look away but I can't bring myself to do so. It's like he's reading my every thought and it's somewhat discomforting, yet at the same time it feels all right.

"It's okay," he says.

I feel my eyes growing wet and a lump growing in my throat. He's so small.

I look back up at Tammy. She simply smiles, looking wholeheartedly content. She turns around and makes her way towards the stove, allowing me to have a moment with Jamie.

"It's okay," he says again.

I swallow a sob as he wraps his arms around my neck. I lean my forehead against his tiny shoulder and let out a sigh. I feel pathetic, allowing a child to comfort me like this… but… Hell, I really want it.

* * *

Tammy asks me to stay for dinner, and I accept. She does most of the talking at the dinner table, but all I can do is stare at Jamie.

I wonder if he looks at all like me? I can't really tell… His eyes, maybe. His eyes are blue. I wonder if people would say we looked at all alike. All I see when I look at him is Tammy and it's probably because I'm still getting used to the idea that he's mine, too.

Jamie takes bites out of his vegetables, and before I can stop myself I comment, "A child who likes his greens, I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Tammy chuckles, and Jamie just grins, giving me a view of all the food between his teeth.

"Um…" Jamie pauses after he swallows. "So, can I call you Dad?"

"Y-yeah…" I say.

Shit. I'm a dad. Kenny McCormick is a parent. I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.

"Can I be done, Mom?" he asks.

"Yep," Tammy grins. "Put your plate in the sink and wash your hands."

"Okay!" he grabs his plate before scampering off.

"Ken," Tammy says.

"Hm?" I ask.

"Have you spoken to him yet? Kyle?"

"Yeah… After I left here last time I was over, I ended up wandering to Stark's pond. I had a little bit of a breakdown and Kyle ended up running into me when I was lying in the snow," I snort. "I suppose I was overwhelmed. It was… It was awkward, to be honest."

"Did he seem angry?"

I shake my head. "It was like he wanted to be angry, but he couldn't bring himself to be… I almost wish he was still angry."

"Maybe it's best that he's not."

"Why?"

"Sometimes to forgive yourself, you need the forgiveness of others. If Kyle holds a grudge, you won't be able to move on. Someday he'll forgive you."

"Maybe you're right…" I sigh.

"You love him, right?"

"Right…"

"Just take things slow," she suggests. "Do things at his pace. That is, if he feels the same way. It will be difficult, but I think things will be okay between you both again."

I nod.

A minute later, Jamie runs back into the room holding a DVD.

"Can we watch this?" he asks, shoving it in my face.

"_Once Upon a Forest_," I read the title aloud. "Sure," I smile. I've never seen it. To be honest, I haven't seen many kid movies. I was never really into them.

Nonetheless, it'll be nice to settle down and watch something light for a change.

* * *

Jesus Christ, this is not light. This is some heavy shit.

"Yo," I whisper to Tammy. "This movie is fuckin' depressing."

She stifles a laugh. "It's his favourite movie right now. I watched it when I was young and loved it, too."

"Christ…" I mumble. "Are all kid movies this intense?"

"A lot of them," she nods. "Children's movies often deal with death, loss… it acts as a realization, or a lesson to the children watching. It gently gets them used to the idea that there are awful things in the world; however you beat the bad guy and the happy endings are always reassuring to young minds. Also, in most cases, the protagonist overcomes their personal demons and grows as a person."

"Ah…" I say. "How relatable."

I guess you can learn a lot from children's movies.


End file.
